The Auggie Chronicles
by cherithcutestory2
Summary: Covert Affairs is Annie's story. This is Auggie's. (NOW COMPLETE).
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is my very first fan fiction...ever. Watching the show, I always find myself wondering about Auggie's life and background. So, I decided to take the breadcrumbs and bombshells the CA writers have given us over the years and write Auggie's story. (Er, my version of it anyway-I've thoroughly enjoyed all of your takes on it, too). Currently, I have 14 chapters written, and I suppose I'll write as long as you and I both enjoy it. If you have something nice or even just constructive to add, please review.  
_

_xo,_

_Cherith_

_Oh, wait...do I need to mention that I don't own the Covert Affairs characters and I'm not doing this for the crazy fan fiction money? Use of the characters and an occasional line of dialogue from the show should be understood in an "imitation-is-the-sincerest-form-of-flattery" kind of way._

* * *

**PART ONE**

* * *

06.11.07

Auggie strode down the lacquered hallway, confident strides belying the apprehension growing in the pit of his stomach. The conversation he was about to have would almost certainly not be pleasant. As he reached the oak door, he paused and bowed his head, running through the answers to the questions that he knew Joan would ask. He knocked lightly, half-hoping she wouldn't be in and he could inform her in a memo or something...

"Come in," Joan called from within her office.

_Damn._ Auggie entered.

"Auggie. Did we have a meeting scheduled?" Joan's forehead creased in confusion. She had a lot on her plate this Monday morning.

"No. Not exactly. But there is something I need to talk to you about. Do you have a minute?" Auggie squared his shoulders and met Joan's questioning eyes.

"Have a seat," Joan offered, setting down the pen she was holding and closing several of the folders spread across her desk.

"I would, but you may kick me out of here in a minute, so maybe I should stand until I say what I need to say," Auggie intoned with a sideways grin, his feeble attempt to defuse tension falling flat.

Joan didn't speak, only gave Auggie the look that was infamous across the DPD. Well, technically, it was infamous across the offices of any of the Agency's stations where Joan had worked throughout her storied career at the CIA. It had earned her whispered imprecations behind her back, and a nickname of "Ice Queen," but it was remarkably effective in cutting through people's bullshit, so she deployed it as needed. As she sat staring down one of her top operatives, looking like he was trying to build up the courage to lay down some serious bullshit, she was pretty sure it was needed.

"Joan."

"August."

"I need to leave."

"Excuse me?" Joan asked imperiously.

"I need to leave. Not permanently. But I would like to formally request...some time away."

Joan let out a barely audible sigh of relief and turned her attention back to the documents strewn across her desk. Auggie was an excellent operative, flexible and quick on his feet in the field. He was also extremely likeable (not that Joan was one to wax poetic about how much she liked any given operative). She was prepared to give him a long leash.

"Auggie, you've been with the Agency three years and have never so much as called in sick. You know you can have all the vacation you want. Fill out the forms and I'll approve them." Joan began to reopen her folders. She clicked open her pen, a clear sign that, as far as she was concerned, this meeting was over.

"Joan."

Something in the tone of his voice drew her eyes back up to his.

"I need the time away because I'm deploying to Iraq."

Joan was too stunned to speak for a moment.

"All my old Fort Bragg buddies, from before I came to the Agency, are deployed now. I know my work here is important, but I need to do this."

Joan stood up from her desk and slowly walked around to stand in front of it. The situation was starting to take shape in her mind. Her expression softened, as did her voice. "Auggie, level with me: What is this about? You left active duty when we recruited you. You knew what you were doing. The work you're doing here _is_ actively bolstering our forces on the ground in Iraq and Afghanistan."

Auggie paused. He liked Joan, and he knew she liked him. However fierce her reputation, he had come to respect and trust her. Absolutely no one fought harder for their operatives than Joan Campbell. Still, she was his boss, and she was a hardass.

So before he could overthink it, he spilled. "I think I need some time away from the Agency. To get my head straight. From the moment I came onboard, it's been...intense. I hope that you know that my commitment to the CIA is unwavering, but after what happened with Helen - " Auggie's voice broke on her name, " - and other recent ops - "

"Natasha?" Joan interrupted coolly.

"Yeah," Auggie admitted quietly after a moment, feeling stung by how transparent he apparently was.

"Auggie, I know you disagreed with my decision on Natasha, but to throw yourself into active combat in an extremely dangerous-"

"Joan," he broke in. "It's not just about that. I meant what I said before that, about my Army buddies. They're out there on the front lines. Some have died. Some have come home injured. I feel like I need to do this for my brothers. However much you might think this is just about Natasha - and yes, some of it is - it's not the only reason."

Auggie's deep voice resonated with conviction, and Joan suddenly believed him. She'd been around a lot of servicemen over the years, starting with her father and including Arthur, a former career Navy man. She knew that the kind of camaraderie that developed among soldiers, even when they weren't at war, was unique and intoxicating. Especially for a young man like Auggie, the desire to feel useful and a part of the greater good was a powerful draw. However much good the CIA did around the world (to say nothing of the bad), it just couldn't compete with active duty military.

And in reality, it was not as if Joan had never wondered whether this day might come. Auggie was an extraordinarily driven person whom they'd had eyes on since his college days at Stanford. Initially, what had piqued the Agency's attention were his code-writing skills, which had been brought to their attention by an Agency asset and computer science professor at the top-tier university. Add to that his very successful collegiate wrestling career there, and the CIA had opened a file on him. This was something they routinely did on many thousands of promising American college students, though odds of him making it in had still been incredibly slim. Assuming he even wanted in.

Then August Anderson had done something that had shocked them all. Upon graduating in 2002, instead of moving into nearby Silicon Valley, where the Agency knew for a fact he'd received several very lucrative offers at tech start-ups, he'd enlisted in the Army. It wasn't often that the CIA was caught off guard, but if this was something Anderson had been considering doing before he did it, he'd left no trace of that. No emails to friends, no phone calls to his parents, no visits with recruiters. Hell, liberal Stanford hadn't even had a ROTC program in decades. It was an unforeseen, though not necessarily unwelcome, twist.

In the Army, Auggie was no less exceptional than he'd always been. He was accepted for Special Forces training only a year into his service, and shipped off to Fort Bragg for SERE-C instruction. He had made it look easy, and graduated at the top of his class. He was installed in the Army Special Forces, informally known as the Green Berets. Considering their long-standing relationship with the CIA, this couldn't have been more exciting for those in the CIA with an eye on August Anderson's ascendency. Like Joan Campbell.

A year after Auggie joined the Berets, a CIA handler was at long last assigned and approved to approach the young soldier. Auggie had been hesitant to leave his unit, as expected, but his handler had an encyclopedic knowledge of his file, including his psychological profile. Ultimately it was the nerd in Auggie that drew him in: Though you'd never guess it by looking at the handsome, well-built, elite soldier, he was, at heart, a techno-geek. Working for the CIA allowed him access to the coolest toys in the sandbox. With the promise that his career would center around active field work (an agreement that he'd never be chained to a desk was struck), he was on-board.

And now, he was jumping ship. Joan felt a pang of guilt as she wondered whether or not her management was the cause.

Suddenly, Auggie cleared his throat, and Joan realized she'd been lost in thought for maybe a minute or more. She asked an honest question, not sure if Auggie knew she was asking as a person who truly cared, and not just as his boss:

"And what if you die? What if you're injured?"

Auggie sighed, "That's a risk I signed up for a long time ago."

Joan supposed that was true. She maneuvered to a new tactic. "And what if I don't approve this action, Auggie?"

Auggie was silent as he bit his lower lip. He had known Joan might - probably would - play this card. And he didn't relish the trump he knew he'd have to pull if she did. "Then you can expect my resignation. My stepdad pulled some strings and I've already received Army approval to go back into my old unit. I'm shipping out two weeks from today. It's already done."

The words hung in the air as Auggie watched Joan take them in. Her eyebrows had risen at the mention of string-pulling, and he knew she knew exactly what he meant. Still, he expected her to yell at him, to tell him to get out of her office. He thought she might tell him his resignation wasn't required, because he was fired.

Or, even scarier, he thought she might simply clip over to Arthur Campbell's office and try to quash his whole plan. Auggie was pretty sure he knew who would win in a tug-of-war between the DCS and certain power players here in DC politics...but he wasn't eager to test his theory, to gamble that those strings were robust enough to get the job done. A better bet was trusting that Joan understood that forcing CIA operatives to remain in service when they expressly preferred not to was a known formula for creating burn-outs and doubles. As such, it was generally avoided.

In any event, Joan Campbell didn't do any of the things Auggie expected. Instead, she quietly walked back around behind her desk and sat in her chair. She looked at the papers on her desk for a long moment, then looked back up, her face inscrutable. She said simply:

"I hope you know what you're doing, Auggie. I really do."


	2. Chapter 2

12.13.07

The DPD was buzzing as Joan stepped into her office and closed the door behind her. She needed a quiet place to think about the information she'd just received.

Captain August Anderson's Delta Force unit had been involved in an explosion in Tikrit mere hours ago, but intel was slow to come in. At least two casualties had been confirmed, and there were whispers that it was a green-on-blue, but the rest of the details were sketchy. Joan sat at her desk and rubbed her temples while she considered wearily whether or not Auggie was one of the two confirmed dead. After years in the DPD bullpen, with real-time, birds-eye views of operations in progress, she was agitated by the unexpectedly slow flow of information and technical snafus that had stymied the transmission of the news about Auggie's unit.

She internally stepped away from the objectivity she generally cultivated to do her job well, and allowed herself to get angry at Auggie. What a stupid stunt he'd pulled, running away to Iraq because of the Natasha Petrovna affair. He'd been one of her best operatives, with skills from his Special Forces background that were unrivaled by anyone coming off The Farm. Add to that his formidable hacking skills, and you had a one-in-a-million operative. The CIA had aggressively courted him, and Joan had considered it a massive personal win when she'd craftily politicked him into her division. She hadn't been disappointed.

And now he was out in the god-forsaken desert of Iraq: Maybe hurt, maybe captured, probably dead. What a waste. Of course, anger was easier to deal with than sadness, regret...

"Joan." Her introspection was broken by a knock on her door, and she watched her husband walk slowly into her office. The look on his face gave away nothing, but Joan knew he would only be coming to her with news about one thing at this moment. She felt a chill travel up her back that had nothing to do with the snow on the ground outside her window.

"Arthur, what is it? Have we heard anything on Auggie?" she asked, searching his face for signs of hope.

Arthur walked to Joan's desk, where he leaned forward and tented his fingers on the polished surface. "It's not a lot, but it's mostly good news about Auggie: He's alive. Actually, he's the only one in the unit that made it out that way."

Joan allowed herself a subtle sigh of relief as Arthur stood up straight, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and continued.

"It was a confirmed green-on-blue; apparently an Iraqi security force officer known as Nasir Al-Shirazi, who was serving Auggie's unit as a translator, was responsible for the explosion."

Joan's eyes narrowed. "Nasir Al-Shirazi? I've never heard of him. Is he on the radar?"

Arthur explained, "Apparently that's not his real name. We've picked up chatter from the area that leads us to believe he's actually Afran Falad Khani, an Iraqi terrorist who's been operating terrorist cells in the Middle East targeting US soldiers and interests - "

"Wait," Joan stopped Arthur. "You said it's 'mostly' good news about Auggie. He's alive...but is he okay?"

Arthur hesitated, not sure how much more of his tentative information was useful at this point. "They're not sure."

Joan released an exasperated puff of breath and allowed some of her earlier anger to rise again. "What the hell does that mean, Arthur? Either all his body parts are there, or they aren't. Either he's responsive, or he isn't. Either he's _okay_, or he isn't," she asserted searingly.

Another pause.

"All his body parts are there and he is responsive."

"So what's the problem, Arthur?"

"He's saying he can't see."


	3. Chapter 3

12.13.07

Auggie never lost consciousness during or after the blast, a fact that surprised even himself. Which is not to say that he wasn't extremely disoriented and confused in the immediate aftermath of the treacherous explosion. All he really remembered, when he zoomed in on the time immediately proceeding the incident, was an interval that might have been minutes or hours, when a young Iraqi boy sat with him and prattled on about his soccer ball.

But if he were honest, Auggie wasn't completely sure that had really happened. The memory was very vivid, if completely dark, but it made little sense: What would a small child be doing talking to a felled American soldier moments after his Humvee and the rest of his men were blown up? And about a soccer ball, of all things?

Tikrit, the birthplace and ancestral home of Saddam Hussein, was technically held by US military forces. It had been since 2003. But Saddam had actually been buried a stone's throw away, in Owja, just six months before Auggie had arrived in Iraq. A year later, in December of 2007, the mood of the majority al-Tikriti populace could ricochet between passive aggression and open hostility many times in a single day. It wasn't anywhere an American serviceman felt like he could take a deep breath, let alone expect self-sacrificial kindness from a local.

Whether he was real, or the feverish product of a grievously injured brain, the boy was a talisman that had protected Auggie from snipers and his own temptation to let go and drift away in the those first terrible minutes. He held on to his consciousness fiercely until the Medevac unit arrived and whatever drugs they pumped into his system forcibly yanked it away. One last whispered thought made it through his lips as a deeper darkness swallowed him up: "I can't see anything..."


	4. Chapter 4

12.13.07 - 12.15.07

Auggie spent the next two days in and out of consciousness. Even when he was conscious, his thoughts were hazy, confused. The real world and dreams merged in a not-unpleasant way, and Captain August Anderson found himself the drowsy passenger on an unguided tour of his memories, only briefly and occasionally interrupted by a reality that was oddly image-less.

...

_Auggie is 3 years old, and he doesn't understand why everyone is so sad. Mom sat him down yesterday and told him that Dad isn't coming home. Well, that's not all that unusual; sometimes Dad's away for months at a time for work. But today, a lot of people have come by the house, and they are all sad. His brothers are sad, too-he can't get any of them to play with him. The one good thing is that almost everyone who has come today has brought a toy for the youngest Anderson, the only one with his father's dark curls. Auggie is particularly excited about the banana yellow Tonka dump truck._

_..._

_Auggie is 5 years old, and he is making molasses cookies with his mom. His job is to roll the balls of dough in raw sugar and then place them on the cookie sheet. But what he's really doing is rolling the balls of dough in the sugar, and then licking the sugar off. Mom finally looks up and catches him and she bursts into laughter. Auggie has missed her laugh. He revels in the music of it, and her clean perfume smell, as she wraps her arms around him and snuggles him close._

...

_Auggie is 8 years old, and is just a tiny bit too old to act as the ringbearer for his mom and Alan's wedding. He's jealous as he watches from the front row with his brothers as his little cousin, Josh, steals the role. He looks up to see Alan looking at him from where he's standing at the front of the church. Alan winks at Auggie. Auggie really likes Alan and he's also really glad his mom isn't so sad anymore._

_..._

_Auggie is 9 years old, and he is absolutely petrified. Ten minutes ago, the two youngest Anderson boys were informed that Mike is a werewolf, which they thought was just a prank to scare them until Andy and Tim confirmed it. Then the lights in the whole house had gone out and Auggie and Chris had run terrified through it, looking for any bastion of safety from the feral beast who was howling from somewhere way too close. The alcove under Alan's desk in his study seemed pitifully ill-suited for the task, but it would have to do. Why did this have to happen while Alan and Mom were out at a campaign dinner?! After several excruciating minutes, the lights come back on and Chris and Auggie hear the older boys' hoots of mocking laughter from the front room. However, that laughter cuts off abruptly and is replaced by a stream of highly forbidden curse words when they hear the fire truck scream to a stop in front of the Anderson home. Who could have foreseen that two scared little boys would think to dial 911 when hunted by a mythical monster?_

_..._

_Auggie is 14 years old, and he has just won his first high school wrestling match. His heart is beating out of his chest with exertion and pride as he stands and helps his opponent up. He turns to face the small crowd in the Green Hill Preparatory High School gymnasium as the ref grabs his skinny arm and raises it in the classic victor's pose. Auggie grins like crazy when he sees that Tim has made it to the match and is sitting next to his mom and Alan. Tim hasn't been home much since he left for college in September, and Auggie really misses him. He's pretty stoked that Tim got to see him subdue his adversary with the figure-four move that Andy, Mike, and Tim used mercilessly on Chris and Auggie growing up. Tim grins back at his littlest brother and surreptitiously flips him the bird, their long-standing brotherly proxy for the classic thumbs-up._

_..._

_Auggie is 15 years old, and it is by far the saddest day of his young life. Standing at Tim's graveside, Auggie can't imagine how life will ever be good again. A week ago, everything was fine, and then a call came that changed everything. It is extremely unfair, Auggie thinks, for one family to experience so much tragedy. And this one so senseless: Why did Tim drink as much as he did that night, and what in the world possessed him to stand up on the balcony ledge of his fraternity house? Auggie does not care who sees him sobbing as the minister drones on about heaven._

...

_Auggie is 17 years old, and has saved up enough scratch through his summer job lifeguarding at Michigan Shores Club to purchase a lime green Kawasaki Ninja...without his parents' permission. He and Alan are verbally duking it out in the garage, the controversial machine parked between them as a silent witness while Auggie yells terrible, hurtful things at his step-father. The worst part is that Alan doesn't even yell back; Auggie is gunning for a fight, so angry he can't see straight. But Alan simply hangs his head, says "I love you, Aug," and walks defeated into the house. The door doesn't close fast enough, though, and Auggie hears a choked sob before it shuts. Auggie sells the bike a week later at a $500 loss. There are plenty of other ways to be self-destructive, he knows, and his laptop is full of them._

_..._

_Auggie is 20 years old, and he and Alan are sitting on the deck of the modest vacation home on Martha's Vineyard that has been in Alan's family for generations. They each hold a cigar and sit in easy silence. Auggie feels very grown up and is finally apologizing to Alan for so many of his youthful antics. Alan is quiet for a long time after Auggie is done talking. When he finally speaks, he tells Auggie that he is proud of the man he is becoming. It is music to Auggie's ears._

...

_Auggie is 21 years old, and it is March of his senior year of college. He is feeling very pleased with himself, sitting as he is on four-yes, four-6-figure job offers from Silicon Valley companies vying for his skills. He answers his phone, his eldest brother Andrew on the other line. Andy tells Auggie that Alan and their mother are separating. Auggie is shocked and confused and is desperate for a "why." Andy explains that their mother has had an affair with her tennis instructor. It is such a cliche, Auggie feels like vomiting. Auggie decides that very day to abandon his career plan and join the Army. He also decides he won't tell her, or anyone, until he ships out. That is the worst punishment he can think of for her._

_..._

_Auggie is 22, and he is gripping the sides of the vinyl table he's lying face-down on, trying not to cry out. You don't cry while getting a Special Forces insignia tattooed onto you, Auggie reprimands himself fiercely. He is relieved to find the pain sort of levels out after the first couple of minutes. He catches the eye of his buddy, Ryan, lying on the table next to him getting the exact same tattoo in the exact same spot. They are totally sober, but they grin like giddy drunks. Earlier this evening, they were both installed in the 82nd Airborne Division; there will be much revelry back at the base tonight.  
_

_..._

_Auggie is 23 and, though his motivation for joining the Army had been spiteful and juvenile and reckless, he feels he has discovered his calling; he has become a man. His leave comes up in 3 days, and he is excited to be home for Christmas for the first time in 3 years. And he's really going back to his home: Alan and his mother have reconciled, and all his brothers will be there, too. Ironically, Auggie is pretty sure his parents' rekindling began as they bonded over how much they each hated the idea of Auggie going into the military._

_..._

_Auggie is 25, and he is in love, really in love, for the first time. It's an odd place for love to bloom: between two CIA operatives on an off-book mission in a remote area of the Czech Republic. But he loves Helen, whom he is watching sleep beside him in the narrow bed. He has suddenly realized that the cover has become real for him. And just like that, August Anderson is a married man._

...

_Auggie is 26, and he is lying in bed with a different beautiful brunette. He loves her, too, but it's a different kind of love. He is jaded and closed off in a way he never was with Helen. He is also deceiving her about almost every facet of his life. Still, he cares for her as much as he can with the scars he's sporting. Tash, who is so fierce awake, looks so vulnerable asleep beside him now. He swears to himself that, this time, he will protect the woman he loves._

_..._

_Auggie is 27 and he hears the muffled sounds of struggle coming from within the oversized foot locker at the end of Cam Hayes' bed. The barracks room is roaring with laughter as his fellow soldiers high-five the private responsible for accomplishing this hilarious coup. Cam is a little bit insufferable when he drinks, and Kip Pastor has finally given him his comeuppance. Kip is quite famous for this particular prank, having pulled a similar one at Fort Benning a few years back. Auggie slaps him on the back in approval before fulfilling his duty as ranking officer and releasing the indignant Hayes._

_..._

_Auggie is 27, and he and Billy are laid out on their bunks shooting the shit. Billy has one of his weirdo jazz records on low in the background, and Auggie hates to admit that it's growing on him. Auggie loves Billy like one of his brothers; truth be told, he reminds Auggie a lot of Tim. Billy is two years older than Auggie, though Auggie outranks him because Billy only joined the service after the bar he owned in his hometown of Richmond failed a couple years ago and he started looking around for a second act. Billy tells Auggie about his family, and a baby sister he worries about not being around to protect. Auggie opens up about his family, which is something he never does. Billy is a great listener._

_..._

_Auggie is 27 and he is running as fast as he can toward a booby-trapped Humvee. The men he is responsible for-his men-are not hearing his frantic shouting, and they are in mortal danger. Suddenly an invisible fist smashes into Auggie's chest _-


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Thanks everyone for the positive feedback! I'm glad you're enjoying this little ride. I know I am. :)_

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12.29.07

It was 16 days since the explosion in Tikrit. After the initial 2-day emergency stabilization in Iraq, Auggie had been airlifted to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany. The hospital, the only Level 1 trauma center outside of the US, was the first link in the chain that shuttled injured soldiers out of combat zones and back to the States. Generally patients stayed at Landstuhl for less than a week before being shipped back stateside via neighboring Ramstein Air Base. Auggie, being a special case due partly to his grave injuries, but even moreso to his employment with the Agency, was remanded to the hospital's care until such time as the staff could be absolutely sure he was healthy enough to make the transatlantic trip home.

Auggie had been in what was termed a medically-induced coma. The explosion in Tikrit had caused massive swelling within his skull, and a coma was the best way to slow down his functions long enough for his brain to get the breather it needed to (hopefully) heal. Often, especially in cases of traumatic brain injury, a medically-induced coma was a literal lifesaver. It produced an inert patient whose body could rest and heal uninterrupted.

However, Auggie had stabilized enough to wake, and his doctors had been slowly stepping down the propofol dripping into his vein over the last 48 hours. The idea was to bring Auggie gradually up to the surface of consciousness, like a free diver's graceful ascent. The most senior member of his medical team, Dr. Ben Townsend, was called to his bedside about an hour after the young soldier's first rousing.

"Captain Anderson?" Dr. Townsend spoke softly to the man who appeared to be sleeping in the hospital bed a few feet in front of him.

Auggie opened his eyes and turned toward the sound, "That's me." Auggie's voice was rusty and hoarse from disuse and the trauma the trach tube had inflicted on his throat while he'd been comatose. But he knew his name._ That's a good sign,_ thought Dr. Townsend.

"I'm Dr. Townsend. You're at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany. You were injured with your Army unit in Iraq, but you're safe now and stable. Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

Clearing his throat and wincing at the pain that caused, Auggie shook his head weakly as if to clear it. Memories were still bubbling to the surface all out of order, and he was not entirely sure he was really awake. If this was real, though, he had one very important question: "Why is it so dark in here?"

Dr. Townsend pursed his lips in concern; Auggie's east-facing hospital room was flooded with sunlight on this clear December morning and his eyes were wide open. "Captain Anderson, can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?" He waggled 3 fingers mere inches from Auggie's nose and noted how the captain's eyes remained fixed on some point beyond them.

"No," Auggie answered, confused. He reached up to remove what he could only imagine were bandages covering his eyes, but felt nothing but the rough skin of his own face. He blinked repeatedly, turning his head back and forth, trying to make sense of the baffling darkness. "I can't see anything," he said with an edge of panic. "What's going on?" Suddenly, Auggie remembered the explosion.

"My unit was attacked in Tikrit," he gasped. "Can you - is there any way you can help me find out what happened to my men?"

Dr. Townsend noted the sincerity in the young soldier's face. A major in the Army himself who had seen frontline combat, he knew that often the most urgent matter on an injured soldier's mind were not his own wounds, but the brothers he'd left behind. However, he was at a loss to help Auggie; though Dr. Townsend possessed significant security clearance, Captain Anderson's mission had apparently been well above it. The Powers That Be were mum on the whole subject, and the good doctor knew better than to press.

"I'm so sorry, Captain Anderson, but I haven't been able to obtain that information for you."

Auggie immediately understood, though it was hard to hear. Besides, he was feeling more awake and alert with every second. He recalled the dream he'd been having just before he woke. In his head, the same horror movie was playing on a loop now: the Jack of Diamonds, the Humvee, the bomb. He'd seen Billy take a bullet to the head and was almost certain he'd died instantly. If not then, obviously he would have perished when the bomb detonated. _Shit_, that thought hurt his chest, and he blinked back tears. As for Chris and Jason, they'd been right next to the Humvee when the bomb had gone off. Auggie had been at least 20 feet away; he couldn't really imagine a scenario where they'd survived.

Regardless, he realized he wasn't going to hear news of his guys from this doctor with the kind voice, so he gathered his courage and asked for what he could tell him. "What's happening to me? Why can't I see anything?"

"Well," Dr. Townsend spoke calmly, "near as we can tell, you suffered a closed head wound due to the detonation of an IED. The initial CT scans indicated significant swelling in the region of your visual cortex. That's right here," Dr. Townsend indicated with a hand gently at the back of Auggie's head. "Since you don't seem to have ocular - that is, eye - damage, we're laboring under the assumption that the problem is in your brain. We're figuring that your vision has been affected by a contusion or shearing of the blood vessels that feed the optic nerve."

"Okay...So what now?" Auggie prompted.

Dr. Townsend continued, "I can't give you absolutes, Captain Anderson. Every TBI - er, traumatic brain injury - is different. You may regain all of your vision, some of it, or none at all."

He let the words hang in the air, not sure how mentally together his patient was, taking into account the considerable amount of narcotics still circulating through his system.

Apparently, he was with it enough. "So I'm...what? I'm...blind?" He nearly choked on the word.

"I wouldn't lose hope just yet. Recovery of some vision is the rule rather than the exception. It's extremely rare for someone to remain completely blind after a head injury like yours."

Auggie was quiet a moment. "So, what can I do to get better? There's gotta be some exercises, some therapies, drugs, what?"

"Captain - "

"Auggie."

"Auggie. The only thing to do is wait."


	6. Chapter 6

01.12.08

The boredom was stultifying. Auggie had been in DC, at Walter Reed, for a week now, after three weeks at Landstuhl. On doctor's orders, Auggie wasn't allowed to do anything "stimulating" during these early days of his recuperation. Something to do with his brain's healing process; an injured brain needed downtime the same way a sprained ankle would, apparently. Only, his brain didn't appear to be healing. And, there was nothing for Auggie to do regardless of doctor's orders. Auggie didn't know that up to 60% of an average person's brain is involved in vision, but after a month of solid night, he would not have been surprised by the fact.

Even if he'd been cleared and in the mood for entertainment, all his normal channels for accessing it were closed off to him for now: He couldn't read a book, couldn't operate his iPod, couldn't work a computer. He couldn't even dial his phone (not that his list of approved contacts was that long...). On his own, he didn't even know if it was day or night. He asked what time it was nearly every time a nurse entered his room, which was frequently, but he still had a hard time keeping his internal clock on track.

Like most people, Auggie had always understood that the ability to see was pretty freaking important for daily life. Things like watching a sunset, avoiding walls, and looking into the eyes of people he loved were the biggies that would have made it onto his "things I'd miss if I ever went blind" list before the explosion. But Auggie's nascent (and hopefully temporary) experience with total blindness was a harsh teacher on not only how useful sight was, but how the entire scope of your life changed dramatically without it.

For the new Auggie, the physical world around him extended only as far as his hands and feet could reach in any given direction. Anything beyond that frontier was, for him, non-existent. Well, anything that didn't make any sound or scent anyway. Which was a whole lot of stuff.

His sense of hearing expanded that range significantly, but you can't hear as far as you can see, and hearing is a sorry replacement for vision when you've been used to relying on your eyes your whole life. And sure, he was noticing smells more than he ever had before, but it wasn't a super power, and most of the time the information it gave him was totally useless in a practical sense.

This left Auggie feeling leashed in a way that he'd never felt before. It would've been maddening for anyone, but for Auggie? Who'd hit the ground running as he'd exited the womb? It was torture.

As Auggie laid there trying to sleep-his only escape from the boredom these days-he became aware of someone in the room with him. It wasn't like a "Daredevil" thing or even a CIA spy thing; he'd had the same common ability to feel another human in a dark room or staring at him from behind as long as he could remember. But it unnerved him more when it happened now, since he couldn't just turn around or flip a light switch and see who it was. He stayed still and kept his breathing even, sure it was just a nurse or orderly who assumed he was asleep and was trying to be stealthy.

Then the familiar perfume hit his nostrils. It smelled like childhood, it smelled like comfort, it smelled like Jan Anderson-Cole. Or, as Auggie called her, Mom.


	7. Chapter 7

01.12.08

Auggie opened his eyes, turned his head in the direction of the doorway, and took the gamble. "Mom?" The word came out as a whisper, as Auggie hadn't spoken in several hours.

"Oh!" came a surprised grunt. "Yes, it's me - how did you - I just - I thought you were sleeping and I didn't want to wake you. Oh, Aug." _Yeah. Definitely Mom_. Auggie was caught off-guard. He'd been told that he wouldn't be allowed visitors for at least another week. Apparently that was unacceptable to Jan Anderson-Cole after a solid month of being held off by the Army after word of the explosion reached her. Auggie wasn't all that surprised that she'd found a way to circumvent the rules to get to him. Luckily, he'd been briefed just the day before by an Agency contact and was aware of his official cover story.

Auggie's mother walked quickly to her youngest son's bedside. As he sat up, she embraced him and Auggie felt warm tears on his neck, her tears. They stayed that way for minute or more, the older woman softly crying tears...of relief? Sorrow? Worry and fear? Maybe all of the above. Auggie found himself comforting her, gently "shh-ing" in her ear. As his mother gained control of herself, he scooted over on the bed and patted the vacated spot next to himself, guiding her petite frame to a seat beside him.

"You okay, Mom?" Auggie inquired gently, reaching up to wipe tears off her cheeks. The question, however, made her break into fresh ones.

"Auggie," she sobbed, "that's my line." Neither could resist a smile. Even under these bizarre and trying circumstances, humor was still their patois.

"Well, I was never a very good patient," Auggie responded affectionately.

"No," Jan agreed. "You really weren't," she half-cried, half-laughed. She paused and leaned slightly away from him-he heard the bed creak as she did-and Auggie could feel her eyes taking him in. "My word, Aug, you don't look like I thought you were going to look...thank God." She appended the last part when Auggie frowned at her observation. "I mean, when Alan and I got the call, about a bomb, all I could think of was that, that, that you'd been killed."

She stuttered the words, betraying how it devastated her to say them aloud. She'd received calls like that twice before, and it pained Auggie to realize that word of his injury had reopened those wounds for her.

"Then they told me you were alive, but wounded, and I imagined, well, carnage. I just had awful images in my head. Especially when they told me...when they told me...something about you couldn't see. I just knew your handsome face was ruined. But it isn't. Not even a little bit. You're...you," she finished in astonishment, cupping her hand under his jaw and lifting his chin for inspection as only a mother would dare.

"So they tell me," Auggie grimaced and gently swept his mother's hand off his face. "I'll take your word for it. Haven't seen myself since it happened."

"Speaking of - what _happened_, August?" Jan was clearly desperate for information.

_And let the lies begin_, thought Auggie glumly. But the truth was miles above a civilian like Jan's clearance, so Auggie followed orders, like always: "We were on our way into Tikrit, standard surveillance operation. I spotted what I thought was a dead dog in the road, and I got out to look at it. Well, it wasn't a dead dog," he ended lamely.

Having to lie to his family and friends was hard enough without having been assigned a cover story that made him sound like a freaking idiot. He wasn't sure who'd approved the official story, but he was pretty sure it was someone he'd pissed off at some point.

"I don't understand," Jan puzzled, "how would that affect your eyes? Honestly, Aug, if I hadn't been briefed before I got to your room, I wouldn't have known you'd been hurt. You don't have a scratch on you." Jan's small, strong hands grasped each of his shoulders as she continued her maternal inspection.

That was reassuring; he trusted his mom to tell him the truth. The nurses and doctors had only given him bits and pieces of information as they'd slowly drawn him out of the coma they'd put him in, and none of it had been geared toward his vanity. Not that Auggie was crazy vain, but it was nice to know his face hadn't been rearranged. There was only so much he could tell from a tactile inspection, and it had crossed his mind more than once that perhaps his eyes themselves were visibly damaged in a way he couldn't feel. Thankfully that didn't seem to be the case.

Shallow as it might seem, Auggie was a young man and had of course by this point already considered future relations with women. He knew it was at least as much his natural charm that attracted women as his looks, but he didn't relish a future where his charm was all he had to rely on.

"I dunno, something about trauma to the brain, and swelling, and optic nerve damage," he answered his mother's question. "All of which is probably temporary," he assured her.

"Temporary?" breathed Jan. "Aug, that's not what they told me. Though of course I'm relieved to hear it," she was quick to add. She sounded confused.

This caught Auggie off-guard. "Who's 'they,' Mom?" he asked, sharper than he meant.

"Your team of doctors. I got here at 9 this morning, and Dr. Murphy asked to speak with me before I saw you. We all thought you were resting, so I went ahead. Was that not okay?" Jan sounded a little panicked, perhaps because of the pinched brow and angry jaw that Auggie was directing at her.

"It's not - that's not - I wanna know what they told you." Auggie was flustered and didn't have the patience to reassure his mother at the moment.

"August..." his mother began slowly.

"Did they lead you to believe that this" - Auggie gestured vaguely to his eyes - "wasn't temporary?" His voice rose just a fraction at the last word of his question.

"Aug, I'm not sure what's going on here. This is all really confusing to me, too, you know." Auggie could hear the hurt in her voice as her tears resurfaced, but he could feel himself losing his cool more every second.

"What are you doing; where are you going?" Jan asked worriedly as Auggie rose shakily from the bed and walked toward the door of the hospital room. He stumbled into the suitcase his mother had left by the entrance, and he heard her gasp before he found the jamb and caught himself. "Dr. Murphy!" Auggie bellowed down the hallway.

He heard his mother's footsteps coming up behind him, and he was momentarily glad the nurses had gotten him scrubs pants and a cotton t-shirt several days earlier, when they'd finally allowed him to wear something other than an open-in-the-back hospital gown.

His yell was met by a beat of silence, and then several pairs of feet walking briskly in his direction. "Dr. Murphy!" Auggie hollered again.

"Captain Anderson, it's John. What can I do for you?" asked a younger male nurse whose acquaintance Auggie had made early on in his stay.

"I wanna speak to my doctor. Now." Auggie put the force of his military authority behind the last word, though he knew he couldn't actually pull rank in a medical center, military or not.

"Sure, I'll check and get Dr. Murphy over here as quickly as possible."

"Now," Auggie reiterated, emphasizing the word by striking his open palm on the door jamb and causing a dull clang to ring out.

"August," his mother whispered a warning from beside him. It was the universal tone mothers used to convey disappointment with their children's behavior. Auggie was deaf to it at the moment, though, and turned around to pace a few steps in each direction (taking care to avoid the suitcase this time), while he waited to hear the dress shoes that doctors wore clacking down the hall.

"Son, have a seat," Jan implored, but Auggie ignored her as he picked up the sound of his doctor's voice in the hall. He and John conferred in whispers until they arrived at Auggie's room.

"Captain Anderson - " began Dr. Murphy.

"Auggie," he corrected sharply. He wasn't sure why; generally he only encouraged those he knew and liked to call him by his nickname, and Auggie had already decided that Dr. Murphy was kind of a dick.

"Of course," the doctor amended. "Auggie. What can I do for you?"

"For starters, you can tell me why you told my mother my personal health information without my consent."

"Auggie, we did have your consent," Dr. Murphy spoke slowly, like he was conversing with a toddler, which only irritated Auggie more. "Your mother was your emergency contact and medical proxy. I'd show you your own signature on the document that you signed, if you could see it."

_Crap_. He was right. Auggie vaguely remembered assigning his mother this task a few days before he'd shipped out for Iraq. Of course, he hadn't expected then that she'd need to actually perform this duty.

He was silenced for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was much quieter, and there was a quiver in it. "Why didn't you tell her that this is temporary?" Again, Auggie waved his hand to indicate his eyes.

Dr. Murphy, the bastard, didn't even pause: "Because it's not, Auggie."


	8. Chapter 8

02.04.08

"Here," said an unfamiliar voice as Auggie felt a hand grab his left and place something bundled and cold and thinly cylindrical in it.

"What's this?" he asked, without any real curiosity. He had been lost in a fog of self-pity for the last several hours, lying in bed and drifting in and out of sleep.

"Your new best friend," said the female voice matter-of-factly.

Auggie's face became a mask of skepticism as he felt the length of the object. The only description that made sense of what he was touching was a tent pole, disassembled and folded up. He had a brief moment of pleasure, remembering a thousand tents he'd set up in his youth with the Boy Scouts and camping with family in Michigan's Upper Peninsula and Wisconsin's Door County.

Then he touched a rubber grip, and he felt a sudden coldness in his chest. With an angry snap of his wrist, he forcefully threw the object in (what he hoped was) the opposite direction from where his female visitor was standing. He heard a satisfying metallic ring as the cane hit the radiator under the window, and abruptly turned over on his side, facing away from the woman, hoping she would get the point. She didn't.

"Hey, now," she said, much more reasonably than she probably should have. He heard her tread as she walked over to the window and picked the cane up off the floor. She approached his bedside, and he heard her lay it on his nightstand. Then she walked back to the door of his room, and he heard her stop and turn toward him in her squeaky tennis shoes. "You don't wanna learn the cane. I get it. I'm Mel. I look forward to hearing from you when you're tired of smacking your shins into shit." Then she exited.

Was that a grin he'd heard in her voice? As far as Auggie was concerned, there was absolutely nothing funny about what was happening to his life right now. Angry tears filled his eyes, and he silently berated himself for allowing them to begin sluicing down his cheeks. He angrily wiped at his face; he did not want to get caught crying alone in his room. They'd probably send him for a psych evaluation, and nothing good could come of that. Neither the Army Special Forces nor the Agency abided mental weakness, and the only thing keeping him sane these days was the hope that he would return to work at one of the two in the not-too-distant future. With eyes that worked, preferably.

Truthfully, he had no idea what he was doing in this place. He'd left Landstuhl after three weeks and a guarantee that he was stable enough to travel. Then, he'd found himself stuck at Walter Reed in DC for a month, which is where his mother had finally been allowed to visit him.

It was also where that asshole, Dr. Murphy, had told him he'd never get his sight back. There had been a hubbub over that, and Dr. Murphy had been reprimanded and removed from Captain Anderson's medical team.

The rest of the days at Walter Reed had been filled with tests, lots and lots of tests. Mostly CT scans at first, and then MRIs. Then he'd gotten his first official diagnosis: bilateral cortical blindness due to optic nerve trauma sustained from intracranial swelling immediately following the concussive blast of an IED. Prognosis? No one could be sure, they said at first. Most people with trauma like Auggie's regained some if not all of their sight, they reminded. Auggie had been allowed - even encouraged to hold - a cautious optimism. But as the weeks rolled on in inky blackness, it became less and less likely that Captain August Anderson would ever rejoin the ranks of sighted humanity.

Finally, two days ago, the decision had been made, quite apart from Auggie's wishes, that a hospital setting was no longer the appropriate place for him. Medically, he was stable. However, with his total visual impairment, he obviously couldn't just go back home. His doctor had recommended the VISOR program for blind vets, and strings were pulled to get the Special Forces soldier into the two-week program on extreme short notice.

So here he sat in the middle of Battle Creek, Michigan, in pain and denial, and feeling just a little bit (_okay, a lot_) sorry for himself. He'd held it together for the past month and a half, even managing to joke with doctors and flirt with nurses at Landstuhl and Walter Reed.

Now, his sails felt totally deflated. No hopeful wind blew through. No helpful tide drew him back to his former life. He was adrift.

For the first time he could ever remember, the mighty August Anderson was utterly defeated.


	9. Chapter 9

02.04.08

The tap in the bathroom sink shut off, and Arthur appeared at the door of the bedroom. He stopped short, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame in a soft grey cotton shirt and flannel pajama pants. Joan could feel his eyes on her as she paced back and forth on the soft rug in her stocking feet.

"What's going on, Joan?" Arthur inquired quietly.

Joan stopped where she was at the foot of the bed and sat down, pulling one leg up under her and tugging her silk robe closer around her body. He could see she'd lost weight in the past few stressful months, not exactly a healthy turn of events considering her already lithe frame. She looked earnestly up at her husband and pleaded, "Was it my fault?"

"Are we talking about what I think we're talking about?" replied Arthur as he walked to the bed himself and sat down beside her.

"I just keep wondering what I could have done differently," she remarked softly.

Arthur leaned close and placed a kiss on his wife's shoulder. They had not been married so long that the idea that she was finally _his_, finally his _wife_, was commonplace to him. It had been a long, hard slog to get here, with more collateral damage than he liked to think about. But they had made it, despite odds stacked heavily against them. They were _making it_.

They had also not become so familiar that he wasn't still sometimes surprised to see her like this. This was the legendary Ice Queen, after all. He couldn't help but smile faintly at the nickname. Even he, the great and powerful Arthur Campbell, who himself had been accused more than once of being remote and imperious, had been intimidated by her when they'd first met many years before. She had been so hard to read.

Now, of course, he read her just fine. He knew that the frosty exterior was a sort of protective shield. What was that old expression? "Cold hands, warm heart"? Yes, that was a fine description for Joan. Sometimes he was bothered by the mythology that had developed around her, which he considered unnecessarily harsh. But mostly he liked that he was one of the very few people on earth who ever saw her like this-shield down, soft, vulnerable. _Feminine_. He knew he wasn't supposed to think that; it was so terribly antiquated. But there it was.

"I think Auggie is a big boy and he made his own choices," Arthur finally answered.

"So then what are we doing? As managers? If our leadership affects nothing, why bother?" Joan prodded.

"I did not say that what we do is irrelevant," corrected Arthur. "But at the end of the day, you can't control every variable. You can't make other people's choices for them."

"We made plenty of choices for Auggie," Joan rebutted pointedly. "We put him in situations where he got hurt. Maybe not always physically, but - my word, Arthur, when I think about what he's been through with the Agency in only 3 short years..." she trailed off.

Arthur understood that she was referencing Helen. That stung. Joan knew only the sketchiest details of what Auggie and Helen had been doing in the Czech Republic and then Rome - she certainly didn't know that they'd been there to train Arthur's illegitimate son - but she did know that it had been off-book, at Arthur's behest, and that Helen's death had shattered Auggie emotionally. Joan had thought that Auggie had bounced back remarkably well, but now a pattern was emerging that made Joan question everything she knew about her favorite (_okay, I said it_, she thought) operative.

It was all so obvious to her now that she was ashamed she hadn't seen it sooner: Auggie was never more enthusiastically on-point than when he was deeply hurting. It was all over his file, if you knew what to look for. Nothing mobilized him to take crazy risks quite like a broken heart.

Joan knew he'd been sleeping with Natasha, but she'd assumed he was keeping his head in the game. Male operatives were supposed to be able to do that, weren't they? Weren't men in general supposed to? But there was always something sweet about Auggie, under his soldier-spy-frat-boy facade. Maybe it was his well-mannered Midwestern upbringing; or, perhaps it had more to do with being the baby of his family; likely his early tragic losses played some role in it. In any event, this softness, this _goodness,_ was what made him so likable. And, frankly, so damn irresistible to women. But it was also a liability.

Joan realized guiltily that he'd been hurt (_again_) by the way the situation with Natasha had panned out. _By the way that I handled the situation with Natasha_, she reminded herself punishingly. As a result he'd made a reckless, but in hindsight totally predictable, leap into the most dangerous circumstances he could find. The difference was, this time it had landed him in even more pain. Pain that he couldn't outrun.

"I feel so helpless," Joan uttered, staring at the floor. "I want to reach out to him, but...I'm not sure what to say. 'I'm sorry for your loss?' 'We're going to miss you?' I keep trying to put myself in his shoes, to understand what he'd want me to say or do, but clearly that's something I've been terrible at doing."

"I know you're hurting, too," Arthur observed as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her head to his chest.

Tears pricked Joan's eyes and she turned into his warm chest. She felt guilty for this, too. She was hurting for Auggie's sake, yes, but she was also hurting for herself. She really was going to miss Auggie. Obviously, it was a tremendous loss for the NCS as a whole. And a real blow to the DPD in particular. But Joan felt she'd lost not just an operative, but an ally and friend.

"Have you considered reaching out?" Arthur asked.

"Of course," Joan replied wearily. "But aside from the big question of what I would say to him, there is the question of how I would discreetly contact him. An email, letter, encrypted voicemail? I'm not at all sure what he can...access...right now."

Arthur was surprised she'd skipped an option. "What about a visit?"


	10. Chapter 10

02.05.08

Auggie awoke with a start. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but he was getting used to the unexpected fatigue that often swept over him these days. The worst part was the disorientation that followed. With zero light perception, Auggie couldn't guess from the sun or moon what time it might be when he woke up like this.

Though he had been irritable and sullen with him, Auggie was suddenly grateful that the man (_Sean? Seth?_) who'd shown him to his room the day before had demonstrated the talking alarm clock on his nightstand. Auggie reached over to feel for it, and came into contact with the hated cane. The same rage he'd felt earlier swelled in his chest again, and he swiped the aluminum implement to the floor once more.

Finding the alarm clock, he pressed the talk button, and the aggressively cheerful female voice loudly announced that it was 2:32AM. _Whoa_, Auggie thought. He'd fallen asleep sometime yesterday afternoon and now it was the middle of the night. He laid back down, but soon realized he'd slept through dinner and his gurgling stomach was not going to allow him to sleep until he put something in it.

He remembered with relief that his mother had insisted on sending him with a care package when he'd left DC. Of course, at the time, he was embarrassed by what he had considered her babying him. But old habits died hard for Jan Anderson-Cole, and August had always been her baby. So he'd allowed her to stuff a backpack with toiletries, granola bars, and Gatorade, and she'd insisted Auggie take it with him to Michigan.

Now Auggie wracked his mind trying to remember where in the room he'd put it. One of the many, many exhausting things that Auggie had already learned about blindness was the constant vigilance required not to lose shit. When you can see, you just take your coat off after coming inside and toss it wherever. Or you mindlessly put your phone down on a counter. When the time comes to use the object in question again, a quick visual sweep of the room will reveal its presence. Searching for something while totally blind, particularly in a room you've never actually seen, was maddening.

Auggie sat up in the twin bed he'd been assigned, and contemplated the situation. Finally, he hefted himself out of bed and began the hunt for his bag. Two steps into his nocturnal exploration, he stepped squarely (and painfully) onto the cane. "Shit!" he cried out and he reached down to massage his insole. He was just about to kick the damn thing across the room, when he realized that he'd just step on it again at some point. Blind Rules 101: Keep the floor clear.

So he reached down and grabbed the cane. Here, with no snotty attendant to observe, he felt a little more curious about what he was holding in his hand. He assumed it was red and white; he'd seen blind people on the street before, and their canes had invariably been red and white. His calloused fingers trailed down the cane until they found what felt like a firm marshmallow at one end. Auggie was shocked to find himself grinning, as the tool once again brought back camp memories, this time of roasting s'mores around a bonfire.

The unexpected positive memory softened his mood, and he found himself unwrapping some sort of elastic cord that seemed to bind the cane together. He extended each segment one at a time, and soon found himself holding a fully assembled cane.

Immediately, revulsion rose in his throat. This was not what he wanted. He did not want to be a person who needed a cane, a person who needed help to navigate a bedroom, _a blind person_. He wanted his old life back. He wanted to return to his unit and continue doing the vital work they'd been doing when the bomb went off. He wanted to murder Nasir with his own hands. He'd taken out the Jack of Diamonds, for crying out loud, which should have been a career high. Instead, he'd had about 30 seconds to exult before the bomb went off, taking his friends and his eyes and leaving his life in shambles. He'd been both incredibly lucky and incredibly unlucky in the very same awful moment.

This time, he didn't try to stop his tears.


	11. Chapter 11

02.05.08

Auggie awoke to the sounds of the center coming to life in the morning. He had eventually found his bag the night before, after looking for a solid 20 minutes. Someone had hung it up in the closet, which was the last place he'd thought to search. He made sure to return it to its place, making a mental note of its location, though he tried to forget the the crying jag that had preceded its discovery.

Auggie had made a decision in the middle of the night. He would do his two weeks here at the VISOR program, which he considered a sort of prison. But he wouldn't participate in any activity that assumed he'd never get his sight back. No dark glasses (_didn't blind people wear dark glasses?_), no "assistive technology" (_as they called it_), and no cane (_definitely, __**definitely**__ no cane_). He'd glean the bare basics of how to take care of himself so he could get home and find the best doctor to fix his problem. It was a good plan, he thought.

As Auggie mentally reviewed his midnight scheme, a now-familiar voice followed a knock on his partially open door. "Hey," said Mel, "you're up. How ya doin'?"

_She acts like she knows me_, thought Auggie irritably. "Never better," he growled with obvious sarcasm.

"Okay, I get it. Dumb question. Here's another: You want breakfast?"

Auggie puzzled momentarily. Yesterday, his first day, his lunch had been brought to his room. But he didn't hear the telltale clank of silverware on a plastic tray now. "Yeah," he replied suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, it'll be served in the main dining room for another 30 minutes, so boogaloo."

_Boogaloo?_ Auggie had only ever heard one other person use that expression for "hurry up." His mom. Against his better judgment, he smiled faintly. Then, he had a question and frowned: "Wait. Where's the main dining room?"

"Oh that," said Mel, and he could hear the mischief in her voice. He was pretty sure he knew what was coming next. "Well, it's through this hall, down those stairs, and on the other side of the double doors," she explained rather vaguely. "Better bring your cane." And she was gone - he could hear those noisy freaking tennis shoes retreat.

Well, fine. He mentally calculated that he had enough granola bars to get him through the next couple days, until he could find a more sympathetic ally to get him food. They weren't gonna let a wounded vet die of starvation on their watch, were they?

Auggie laid down on his bed and pretended not to hear the grumblings his stomach was making as he tried to escape into sleep once more.


	12. Chapter 12

02.08.08

Auggie spent the next 3 days completely isolated. He was surprised that whoever was running the place had allowed him to opt out of every single activity, but he appreciated the autonomy they were giving him. He'd made use of his time by sleeping, of course, but also by starting a workout regimen. It was basically two solid months since the explosion, and Auggie had never since puberty gone so long without a workout.

Sweating felt good, it felt normal. Auggie worked himself through his paces during a morning and an evening workout conducted alone in his bedroom, and lasting for over an hour. Pushups, sit-ups, planks, and a variety of calisthenics were leaving him sore at the end of each day, but subtly improving his mood.

He'd even gotten Seth (his name had been Seth, not Sean) to set his iPod to shuffle, and he'd said a silent prayer of thanks to Whomever Might Be Listening that he'd opted to bring his old iPod, the Classic with the little dial, to Iraq. Had he brought his Touch, he'd be S.O.L. right now, as touch screens were entirely out of the question for the moment. For now, all he had to do was click the play/pause button. Sure, it was a little jarring to skip from Mingus to the Black Eyed Peas to the Beach Boys to Soundgarden all in a single workout, but it was still better than the silence he'd gotten used to.

Auggie was just finishing up his evening routine when he suddenly got that eerie "being watched" feeling. He yanked out his earbuds and turned to face his doorway, listening intently.

"No shit," said her voice from the entrance, slowly drawing out the vowels in both words. "Special Forces, huh? I should've guessed. You sons of bitches are always the toughest nuts to crack."

Feeling naked both figuratively and literally, Auggie quickly reached for the t-shirt he'd discarded on the small loveseat against the far wall of his room. Happily, he found it on the first sweep - he'd gotten better at remembering where he'd set things.

"Don't you knock?" he asked angrily as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"Yeah, I do actually," she responded. "I knocked for a solid 30 seconds. Apparently your blind man super-hearing powers haven't kicked in yet. Or maybe it was that million-decibel music that was drowning it out. You going for the full Helen Keller experience or something?"

There was that grin in her voice again. Auggie decided to brush off her calling him a "blind man," which made him sick to his stomach, and tried to ignore her presence while he wrapped the cord of his earbuds around his iPod and stowed it in his nightstand drawer.

"Wait." He was suddenly curious. "How'd you know I was Special Forces?"

"The tattoo," she replied simply.

_Oh. Right._ He hadn't seen it in so long he'd forgotten it was there.

"When's the last time you ate?" she questioned, this time with no mischief or sarcasm in her voice.

"Couple hours ago," Auggie replied casually, hoping she couldn't hear the way his stomach protested at talk of food. The granola bar cache was getting seriously low.

"Uh, no. I'm not talking about that stash of squirrel food you've got in the closet. When's the last time you had a meal?"

"Dunno. Since the first day here? Since you put me on involuntary hunger strike?" Auggie moved tentatively toward his en suite bathroom, hoping she'd get the point and realize he wanted some privacy to shower.

But she never seemed to get his points. Instead, she laughed. "Oh, so this is my fault?"

"Well, since I can't get to the main dining room on my own, and you've apparently expressly forbidden Seth from sneaking me grub, yeah - I'd say it's your fault." _Of course_ he'd asked Seth to get him food. And of course she _had_ told him where the dining room was _and_ given him a cane with which to get there...

"So the idea is what? To subsist on granola rations for the next week and a half? With the kind of workouts I've heard you doing in here, that is ill-advised, soldier."

Auggie reached into the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel to mop up the sweat on his face. She was right - it was getting harder to do his workouts on so few calories. But he continually reminded himself that he'd lived through worse deprivation during his SERE training, not to mention a couple ops with the CIA that had gone sideways.

"Ah, that's right," she said after a moment. "You're a Snake Eater. You've probably gone longer than this without food, and under harsher circumstances."

Auggie looked sharply towards her, surprised that she'd basically read his mind, nevermind used a rare, in-crowd nickname for Special Forces.

"Lemme guess - Fort Bragg?"

Auggie tilted his head and exhaled through his nose, "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Oh, soldier, you never lose that Fort Bragg swag," she chuckled.

Auggie couldn't help himself - he laughed out loud. She had once again surprised him with an expression he hadn't heard in a long time. This girl was annoying, for sure. But she was also becoming..._interesting_.

"C'mon," she commanded abruptly, and Auggie raised his eyebrows. "You're the most stubborn trainee I've had in ages, but I can't just let you starve. They'll have my job."

When Auggie didn't make a move - honestly, he wasn't sure what to do - he heard her tennis shoes chirp across the room's tile floor until she was right in front of him.

"I know you don't want to do any 'blind man' stuff," she said quietly. Her tone was softer than he'd yet heard it, and he was surprised that for the second time in as many minutes she'd again gotten inside his head. She also smelled, well, kind of delicious, something he hadn't been close enough to her yet to notice. Perfume, for sure, but one he'd never encountered before. Kinda spicy, almost. He tried not to consider what _he_ smelled like right now, immediately post-workout. She continued gently, "But you're gonna have to at least get sighted guide down before you leave this place."

A look of confusion passed over Auggie's face. "Here," she instructed, as he felt what he assumed was her hand graze the back of his left hand. "I'm offering you a lead. If you want it, you're gonna trail your left hand up my right arm and grab just above my elbow, the way you'd hold a soda can."

"If I want it?" Auggie asked with a snort. "Thought this was mandatory for your job security."

He was half-heartedly attempting a joke, but her reply came back quick and sharp: "You _always_ have a choice. Don't you _ever_ let anybody push or pull you somewhere you don't wanna go. You're blind, not incompetent."

Auggie was caught off-guard by the fierceness in her voice. Too caught off-guard to comment on her once again calling him blind, in fact. He decided to shut up and take her lead. (_Damn_, he was really freaking hungry). He trailed his hand up the smooth skin of her forearm until he arrived at that spot just above her elbow. It was surprisingly intimate, and Auggie blushed as he unintentionally found himself wondering what Mel looked like.

Mel cut into his imaginings. "Okay, now you and I are just gonna walk natural as can be. You'll follow a half-step behind me and get all the information you need to know about the terrain from the way I move through it."

Auggie nodded assent and they crossed the room to his door. At the door, Mel stopped. "Narrow passage," she explained, and gently slid his hand down her arm until he clasped her wrist. She then moved her arm to cross behind her back and Auggie instinctively moved his body into a position directly behind her. "Quick learner," she noted approvingly, and they were suddenly in the long, echoey hallway. They moved easily back into the normal sighted guide position, and proceeded down the hall.

At the end of the hall, which was further from his room than Auggie had been since he'd arrived, Mel came to a stop. This time, Auggie anticipated the door, and went into the narrow passage technique with her wordlessly. Mel instructed him to grab the door as he passed through, which he did. Another pause followed, just through the door, at the top of what Auggie assumed was the staircase. He could feel a draft coming up, and he could smell the faint aroma of food from the kitchen below. "Stairs?" he asked.

"You got it," Mel answered. "Just follow me down, easy peasy. I'll pause at the end so you'll know we're at the bottom."

When they'd made their way down the stairs, it occurred to Auggie that he didn't have any idea what time it was. It definitely didn't sound like a mealtime, as it was much too quiet. Mel stopped and put a hand on his chest. "Wait here," she said. Before she walked away, she brought his hand to touch the plane of a wall, helping to orient him in space.

He heard doors swing open and Mel's voice ring out in enthusiastic Spanish, with an ease that could only be produced by a native tongue. _Even more interesting_, Auggie thought. For some reason he'd been envisioning her as a redhead, but now his mental image morphed as he visualized chocolate brown eyes, caramel-colored skin, and soft dark hair. _Whoa_. He caught himself. _What the hell, Auggie?_ This was neither the time nor the place. And she was definitely not the girl. Hell, he was definitely not the guy. Not right now. He blamed it on the stress and deprivation of the last two months, and the six months prior, and physically shook his head to dispel the intrusive thoughts.

Mel came back out of the kitchen (Auggie had gathered it was the kitchen from the sounds and smells escaping it) carrying what sounded like a tray. "Hold up a sec," she called to him as he heard her footsteps cross the room and exit a door at the far side. She returned a minute later and they resumed sighted guide going in the direction she had just come from. They passed through a pair of double doors, into what Auggie guessed was the center's entryway. Then they turned and descended two shallow steps and Auggie suddenly found himself walking on carpet for the first time in a long time.

She led them ten more paces forward, and then grabbed his hand and placed it on the back of an upholstered chair. Auggie sat down, vaguely alarmed by the heat that was suddenly hitting his face and the exposed skin of his arms and legs. Either he was sitting in front of an oven or a fireplace. Auggie guessed the latter, as he heard the crackle of wood burning. He heard Mel drag what he assumed was a matching chair up beside his and looked toward her with one eyebrow raised.

Mel explained. "So, this isn't exactly the best place to eat dinner when you're just learning how to do it blind, because there isn't a table. Also, we're not really supposed to eat in here. But I've never been much of a rule-follower. I'm gonna place this tray on your lap, and I'll put your drink on the floor right by your left ankle." He accepted the tray and noted the location of his drink. "We're in the living room. There's a fireplace about 6 feet in front of you. I just figured you'd appreciate the atmosphere here better than the dining room."

"You've got good instincts," Auggie acknowledged. "Um," he probed, "what am I about to put in my mouth?"

Her laugh rang out clear in the large room. "Sorry in advance - strictly institutional grade here. But Guillermo does the best possible job with what he's given." Auggie again noted the natural flow of the Spanish vowels and consonants of the man's name over her tongue, and tried not to get too distracted by the sexy Latina image that kept threatening to crowd into his mind. He'd always had a thing for brunettes, to say nothing of accents.

She continued, slowly and carefully, back in instructor mode: "You got roasted potatoes and peppers at your 9, some kind of marinated chicken breast at your 3, and steamed broccoli at your 12."

To Auggie, who'd been subsisting on granola bars for three days, it sounded heavenly, institutional-grade or not. He ate his entire meal in under two minutes while they sat in comfortable silence.

"You're such a hardhead," she finally commented as Auggie polished off the last of his broccoli.

"What?" he mumbled around the oversized bite, confused.

"I can't believe you haven't eaten in 3 days," she explained in a scolding voice.

"I ate," he remarked simply.

She grunted derisively. "Take your tray?" she offered. "Or were you planning to lick it first?"

"Har," he replied, handing her the tray and hearing her place it on the floor under his chair. He reached down and grabbed his drink, a cold soda in a can, and popped the top. _Oh, wow._ This was definitely not a soda. Auggie grinned hugely as he sniffed at the opening. "Miller?" he inquired.

"You're good," she laughed.

"I'm a good Midwestern boy," he corrected and took a long swig.

"Really now?" Mel sounded surprised, and Auggie guessed more than just his Special Forces status had been kept from the VISOR staff.

"Yep. Just across the lake. Glencoe."

"Of course," she remarked, and he heard her open a beer for herself.

Her words were harmless enough, but he caught the snarky undercurrent. It wasn't like he hadn't heard it before. But he'd stopped being bothered years ago by other people's assumptions about where he came from. By the time Auggie had left Glencoe for Palo Alto, his hometown had long since been immortalized in films like _Risky Business_, _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_, and _Sixteen Candles_. It was the go-to locale for a certain brand of affluent, lily-white, yuppified Americana. People assumed people from Glencoe didn't have problems. People were wrong.

Hoping to deflect, Auggie asked, "Where you from?"

"Detroit, baby, born and raised." There was obvious pride in her voice, and he smiled at it.

"Motor City. I'll cheers to that," he said as he raised his can, briefly remembering a certain '67 Chevy Corvette in storage at his parents' place.

But the full stomach, half a beer, and warmth of the fire had relaxed him a little too much. As their cans met mid-air, he lost his grip on his own, and it fell to the carpet with a slosh and a thud.

"Oh, shit," he muttered as he clumsily reached for where he thought the can had landed. His hand felt Mel's shoe, but then his arm brushed something he didn't understand. It was hard. And plastic maybe? And metal, too. _Weird_, thought Auggie. Curiously and unselfconsciously, he allowed both his hands to explore the object. He traveled up until he touched fabric, which bemused him even more.

"Watch it, Anderson. I'm a good Catholic girl. Go any higher, and I'll have to drag you to confession with me," Mel said in a teasing tone.

Auggie looked up toward her voice with a furrowed brow, now just totally flummoxed.

"That's my leg," she explained matter-of-factly. Auggie's eyes grew wide with understanding. "Got another one just like it," she continued, as she placed Auggie's right hand on another object identical to the one Auggie's left hand was currently resting on.

"Prosthetics."


	13. Chapter 13

02.08.08

Auggie was frozen in place for a beat, then he quickly withdrew his hands from Mel's prostheses as if they were hot to the touch.

"I am so sorry," he apologized emphatically.

"You're sorry I lost my legs?" Mel asked skeptically.

"No," Auggie replied quickly. "I'm sorry that I just felt you up like a teenaged boy in the back of a movie theater."

Then he winked in her direction, grinned what he knew to be his most winning grin, and was rewarded with her pretty laugh again.

"Good answer," she admitted.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Auggie asked wonderingly.

"When exactly would I have had the opportunity?" Mel guffawed as he heard her sopping up the spilled beer with a napkin. "You've been holed up in your room since you got here. When you weren't throwing things at me, you were glaring at me. Well, in my general direction," she quipped.

"Since when are we doing blind jokes?" he asked with mock offense. "And just so we're clear, I did not throw anything _at_ you. I threw it in the total opposite direction, in fact. My mother raised me better than that."

"You _hoped_ it was the opposite direction." Mel worked in one last teasing dig, and Auggie was taken aback at how natural it felt to be light-hearted again. How it somehow felt better to laugh about it than to cry. _Huh, who knew?_ Mel knew, apparently.

"So how'd - "

" - it happen?" Mel finished his thought as she sat back down in her chair.

"Is that not okay to ask?" Auggie worried.

"No, it's totally cool. You're gonna be on the receiving end of that question a lot and you're gonna get good at anticipating it, too. I was in Iraq, 2004, doing a patrol on the Iranian border. Stepped on a landmine and _kablooey_. Woke up at Landstuhl with only half the limbs I remembered having when I deployed."

"I had no idea," Auggie mused aloud.

"Well, now ya know," announced Mel good-naturedly.

Auggie felt guilty now. "You know, I wouldn't have treated you the way I did if I'd known," he offered quietly.

"Ha," Mel scoffed. "Please. Spare me. One of the best things about working with people with visual impairments is not having to talk about my legs all the time. I'll pass on the pity kindness, thanksverymuch."

"No," Auggie corrected, seeing she'd misunderstood his meaning again. He turned in his chair to face her, wanting to make sure she caught his sincerity. "Not because I'd have felt sorry for you," he expanded. "Because I'd have had a hell of a lot more respect for you. You're a soldier. You're a fighter. You're a survivor. That's honorable." Auggie looked toward the fire and appended thoughtfully, "I didn't think you had any idea what I was going through."

"Well, now that you know, are you gonna stop acting a fool and let me do my job?"

The grin in her voice was back and, for once, it didn't annoy Auggie. "We'll see," he responded with a half-smile as he listened to her scoot her chair back to its spot. Mel grabbed the tray from under his chair, and lightly grazed the back of his hand with her own as she positioned herself at his right side. Auggie understood the cue and stood up and took her arm.

Auggie had one last observation to make before they went back through the dining room: "A skirt, huh?" he smirked. "A skirt, with two prosthetic legs. That's - "

"Awkward?" she prompted.

"No," he laughed, shaking his head. "I was gonna say badass."


	14. Chapter 14

02.09.08

By the time Mel knocked on his door at 8 the next morning, Auggie had worked out, showered, and even shaved for the first time since arriving in Michigan a week earlier. He opened the door with a smile as her piquant perfume tickled his nose.

"Oh, sorry. Wrong room, I guess. I'm looking for the surly vet with the scraggly beard, but clearly he moved out. Well, good riddance," she joked brightly.

Auggie laughed in spite of himself and opened the door wider so she could come in. She breezed past him and Auggie had the jolting realization that it wasn't her shoes that made that shrill little noise when she walked - it was her legs. He shook his head at how wrong he'd been about her on so many things.

"You going on a date?" she teased.

"Yeah, I got a real hot one with a badass Latina vet," he returned with a sarcastic snort.

"Well in that case, soldier," came her simple reply, "let's get cracking." He heard her move toward him. "Hold out your hand," she said, as she placed the cane - _his cane? that was an odd thought _- lightly in it.


	15. Chapter 15

02.18.08

The next nine days were intense for Auggie. He needed to learn so much about getting along blind in a sighted world, much more than anyone could really learn in that amount of time. But Mel proved to be a patient, calm, and knowledgeable instructor. She'd had a lot of experience: Auggie learned that her father was legally blind.

"Nothing melodramatic like a bomb going off in his face," Mel explained, with a playful nudge to Auggie's lats, as they sat at the bus stop waiting for the 3:20 back to the center. "Retinitis Pigmentosa. It's a genetic thing. And no, I don't have it," she said, answering Auggie's unasked question. "It's a good thing, too. A blind double amputee isn't as funny as it sounds," she chuckled. "Anyway, he knew by his teens that he'd lose most of his vision at some point. He can still see a little. Light, dark, vague shapes - like looking through a straw in a smoke-filled room, he says. By the time I was old enough to understand, it was just normal to me."

"So your whole sadistic career at the center is basically you working out your daddy issues?" Auggie cracked.

"Something like that," she shot back. "Nah. After my injury, I didn't know what to do with myself. My plan had always been to join the Army; I was a 'ROTC nazi' in high school." Auggie smiled at her air quotes and shook his head. "I knew my parents weren't gonna be able to pay for college, so that was my solution. Anyway, after I was discharged, I kinda stumbled around a bit...no pun intended." Auggie could hear from her voice that she definitely _had_ intended the pun, and he rolled his eyes for her benefit.

"But that may have had more to do with the alcohol. I self-medicated like a boss. Took me about a year to figure out that pickling my liver was way too slow a method of suicide for my tastes. But, since I was too chicken-shit to do anything more - " Mel cleared her throat " - _definitive_, I figured I'd better find something to live for. I started taking some night classes at UM in Ann Arbor, and I found this place, which was like the perfect fit. I'll be graduating next May with a degree in sociology and starting a master's in social work the September after that."

Auggie sat pensively for a moment, eyes directed at his shoes. As much as he respected Mel's journey, and as much as he'd benefited from her work at the center, he couldn't imagine a life for himself that was _less than_ what he'd had. She seemed happy, fulfilled even. But she hadn't been a Special Forces soldier or a CIA field operative. His life had been one that most people only dreamed about. Was he supposed to get comfortable with the idea of a "normal" existence? "Normal" sounded a whole lot like "mediocre" to him at the moment...

"It ain't gonna be what it was, soldier," she interrupted his thoughts, as usual seeming to read them. "But that doesn't mean it's gonna be bad."

Auggie spoke to his feet, "I don't know that I'm ready to say 'uncle' just yet."

"Nobody said anything about giving up," she snapped, offended. "But can I give you some advice? Stop thinking about getting your sight back, and start thinking about getting your _life_ back. Speaking of..." she trailed off as Auggie heard the squealing brakes of the bus as it approached them. "All you, Anderson."

Auggie stood up and nervously approached the reeking, belching machine. He was glad that he and Mel were the only ones at the bus stop, since finding the bus door usually meant finding not-the-bus-door first. Auggie had discovered that it was almost impossible for strangers to watch the discomfiting process without putting their grubby mitts all over him.

The end of Auggie's cane came into contact with a tire, and Auggie brought the cane vertical to sweep along the side of the bus until he found the accordion doors. Stepping inside, he once again used the cane vertically to find each step. At the top, he handed the bus driver his metro card, which the man swiped and handed back. Now the tricky part: Auggie had to maneuver to a seat without tripping on anyone's feet or accidentally sitting on top of someone. Auggie navigated carefully to an open seat and sat down without incident. He released a small sigh of relief.

He knew Mel had gotten on behind him, but since this was his last official day in the program, she was there simply to observe. He wasn't even sure where she was in the bus right now. He felt an anxious bead of sweat trickle down his back. Remembering what Mel had called the cane that first day they'd met - his new best friend - he clutched the aluminum tube tighter to his chest. One little-understood fact about the cane, he now knew, was that it was not just for his benefit. It was an icon, a blaring signal to everyone around him, shouting "Hey, blind person over here!" That had, of course, been why he'd hated the idea of it so much initially. Now though, he knew it was way worse for the people around him to think he _could_ see. That just led to awkwardness and rudeness and general unhelpfulness.

The driver announced his stop, and Auggie repeated the boarding process in reverse. Once off the bus, he oriented himself by finding the curb and then the chain-link fence on the far side of the sidewalk. He took off in what he hoped was the right direction, and two blocks later found himself at the front door of the VISOR center. He felt a small thrill of accomplishment, which was followed swiftly by the disheartening realization that successfully riding a bus and walking two blocks had now become cause for celebration in his life. Before he could spiral into a dark place, however, he heard clapping from 20 feet behind him, and realized Mel was applauding him. "Nicely done, soldier!" she chortled, and her good mood was contagious.

Auggie found himself wishing he could take her home with him. Not in a romantic sense. Rather, Auggie imagined that his relationship with Mel, as short as it had been, was what it would have been like to have had a sister. It helped that they were both gimps, a term that had caused Auggie to blanch the first time Mel had used it. But she had assured him conspiratorially that they were allowed to; she'd explained that it was one of the few perks of their situations.

She approached Auggie and he easily took her lead. As they passed through the center's doors, Mel started in with one of her thousands of amputee jokes, "Hey, soldier, what do you call a girl with one leg?"

Auggie groaned, "I'm sure I have no idea."

"Eileen!" she called out triumphantly, but then her laughter cut off. "Oh, hi," she said, stopping short while Auggie stood beside her, perplexed.

The other person in the room cleared her throat before speaking, "Hello. I, uh, I'm here to see Auggie."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks again for the kind reviews, folks. I'm having a blast exploring this world, and I'm happy to have you all along for the ride. Two quick notes:_

_1) This chapter represents the last one I had pre-written before publishing. I had written a bunch before I decided to bite the bullet and post - that's how come I've been able to update so fast. :) I promise no one could possibly be as obsessed with this story as I am, so I will definitely keep posting, but it may not happen quite as quickly as it has been happening so far. So, if you're following, thank you and don't lose hope! If you're feeling particularly bored, post a review and motivate me. ;)  
_

_2) Several of you have commented on the realistic portrayal of "blind stuff" like sighted lead and whatnot. Thanks! I **have** done a fair amount of research on my own, just googling around and watching YouTube videos (South Texas Lighthouse for the Blind has a lot of good stuff, and interviews with Chris Gorham have proven surprisingly informative, too). But it wouldn't be fair if I didn't credit some of what I've already written in regards to that, as well as a bit that I've yet to write, to the unfortunate firsthand experience of Dan Bigley, who went blind after an Alaskan grizzly munched on his face in July 2003. He wrote a really great book about the attack and his life from that point on called, "Beyond the Bear." It's a good read and I recommend it. And don't worry - like Auggie's, his story ends happily. :) Also, I read a Kindle single some time ago that has probably informed some of what I've written, too: It's called "FOCUS" by Ingrid Ricks and details her experience of being diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa as an adult.  
_

_Oh, and I cannot for the life of me remember where I read a description of RP as looking at a smoke-filled room through a straw. Those are not my words; if you know whose they are, lemme know and I will happily credit them appropriately.  
_

_Cherith_


	16. Chapter 16

02.18.08

Joan sat nervously on the small settee in the foyer of the VISOR center. Several times in as many minutes she'd stood up to leave, suddenly sure that this was a terrible plan. She'd shown up unannounced, still uncertain of how to get a message to Auggie. But a staff member had intercepted her just as she'd decided to scrap the whole visit, and had offered to go retrieve Captain Anderson from his room. While she'd sat there trying to regulate her breathing, she'd contemplated for the millionth time what in the world she was going to say to Auggie. She wasn't here on any official business; her "boss hat" wouldn't be of any use to her in this situation. She guessed she was there as a friend, but she felt like an awful one.

In any event, the older man who'd left to grab Auggie came back empty-handed, explaining that Captain Anderson was apparently out of the building on a training excursion. Seizing upon this as the perfect excuse to leave right that moment, Joan thanked the man, assured him she had no message to leave, then turned around...and almost bumped into Auggie re-entering the building.

She stood there speechless for a moment, and she must have seemed obviously out of place, because the woman Auggie was with looked uncomfortable while she glanced between Joan and Auggie. "Oh, hi," the slim, dark-haired woman offered, probably more for Auggie's benefit than hers, Joan thought.

"Hello." Joan swallowed a lump and cleared her throat. "I, uh, I'm here to see Auggie," she explained weakly, never meeting the woman's eyes, but rather keeping hers locked on Auggie. She had a passing thought of how strange it was to be standing right in front of Auggie and him not know she was there.

"Joan," Auggie's voice came out strangled, as his eyes flew wide with recognition. He dropped the woman's arm and brought his hand to his mouth and then up to the top of his head in gestures of shock, discomfort, and confusion. "What are you doing here?" he asked breathlessly, and Joan saw his ears had turned bright pink.

Joan swallowed before speaking again. "Is there somewhere more private we could...talk?" she inquired, hoping he caught her drift.

The pretty brunette with him seemed suspicious, if her raised eyebrows were any indication. She turned to Auggie and spoke too low for Joan to overhear. "No, it's fine," Auggie responded to whatever she'd said, and Joan felt some small relief that their reunion wouldn't have to play out in front of this stranger. Auggie appeared to collect himself and looked up in Joan's direction. He took a deep breath, then said, "Follow me."

"All right," Joan responded, watching Auggie orient himself in the small foyer by sweeping the red and white cane he held in semi-circles until he made contact with the bottom of the staircase. _This is so strange_, she thought again as she slowly followed Auggie up the stairs, the Latina woman watching with crossed arms as they ascended together.

On the one hand, Auggie looked 100% like himself. His hair was a little longer, but if you hadn't known an IED had detonated in his face only 2 months earlier, you wouldn't guess it to look at him now. You certainly wouldn't guess that he was blind. Growing up, Joan had had a blind neighbor, a middle-aged man who'd lived with his elderly mother. _He_ had looked blind. On the other hand, Auggie was also not the same as she remembered. Maybe it was the cane, but he seemed to move through space differently. He was stiffer, more tentative. That made sense, of course, but it was still jarring to observe.

Her black patent heels resounded through the hall as they made it up to what Joan assumed was Auggie's floor. She could see his jaw working from behind and realized he was counting his steps under his breath. Suddenly, he came to a stop a few feet short of a closed door on the left hand side of the hallway. He swept his cane to make contact with the wall and then dragged it along until the tip caught at the door frame. Auggie stepped forward, grabbed the doorknob, and swung the door inward. He turned and gestured for Joan to enter. "Ladies first," he pronounced soberly, keeping his eyes pointed toward the floor.

Joan pulled her black pea coat closer around herself, trying not to brush against Auggie as she crossed the threshold and entered the room. He closed the door behind them but remained facing it for a moment, his hand still on the knob.

"Hi," Joan offered quietly to his back.

"Hi," Auggie repeated, turning around and leaning back against the door, but still not looking up.

"I'm sorry to just turn up like this," Joan apologized in a small voice, looking around at the room she found herself standing in. It reminded her of a college dorm, right down to the asbestos tile on the floor and the plaid comforter covering the extra long twin bed. Minus any pictures or decorative personal items, that is. She felt a twinge of sadness, wondering if Auggie had had any other visitors in this depressing place. The setting just seemed so wildly incongruous with the man standing in front of her, the grown man she knew as an exceptionally capable CIA operative. "I wasn't sure how to...contact you discreetly," she added, "so Arthur suggested I just come visit."

Auggie looked up at mention of Arthur. "Arthur sent you?" he asked surprised, leaning forward on his cane.

"Not exactly, no," amended Joan. "I'm not here on official business, if that's what you're wondering. I...it's been...I've..." Joan stopped to collect her thoughts. "I've been wondering how you're getting on," she finally declared.

"So you're not here to tell me 'I told you so'?" Auggie inquired with a grunt and a feeble smile.

He seemed to be trying to make a joke, but Joan didn't find it funny at all. Instead, she was taken aback. _Did he really think that poorly of her? That she'd come to this place to kick him while he was down?_ "No," she answered forcefully, hoping he picked up on the disgust she felt at his insinuation. So much had always gone unspoken between them that she was finding it hard to communicate with him now, knowing he couldn't see her face.

Joan preferred subtlety and nuance, but she also realized that this was not the time for it. This might be the last time she'd see Auggie, and she couldn't bear the thought of him not knowing how she felt about him. So she swallowed her doubts.

"I know I didn't exactly give you a proper send-off, but I hope you know that I think what you did was tremendously brave."

Joan saw the faintest twitch in Auggie's mouth, and she was familiar enough with the man that she understood it to be a sign of pleasure at what she'd just revealed. So she again brushed aside her unease and her natural shyness and continued:

"You did a job that only a few people on earth could have accomplished, and you should be very proud of that. You took out an incredibly dangerous player in the global terrorism game, saving countless innocent lives, and the CIA - " Joan caught herself " - and _I_ am very grateful to you for it."

Auggie didn't move a muscle, and Joan felt an almost physical need to fill the void of silence between them. She thought she knew what he was waiting to hear. "I'm sorry I failed you." It came out as a whisper. "I made mistakes, and I know you must be so angry with me - "

"Wait, what?" Auggie shook his head and looked sharply in her direction. "You think I'm _angry_ at you? Why would I be angry at_ you_?" Auggie demanded quizzically.

Joan found herself once again off-balance, an unusual and frustrating experience for her. "I thought - with Natasha - just that - since that was the reason you left..." She stopped talking as she watched confusion and annoyance play out on Auggie's expressive face.

"No. No. _No_." Auggie asserted. "Joan, I'm not angry at you."

Now it was Joan's turn to be annoyed. This was good. It gave her solid ground to stand on, put her back in control. "Well, you could've fooled me. I feel like I'm talking to a stranger here."

Auggie grimaced and sucked his teeth. "I'm not exactly the same person I was eight months ago," he countered. _Touché. _As if to make the point, he disassembled his cane and walked forward to place it on the bed. He appeared to know his way around his room well enough not to need it here, and he dragged the back of his hand along the side of the bed until he came to where Joan was standing at the foot. He drew up to his full height in front of her. "Come here. Have a seat," he suggested, motioning to the small striped loveseat against the wall behind her. Joan did as she was told, and Auggie sat down next to her.

"I'm sorry, I'm out of practice. I haven't had many visitors." Seemingly realizing how pitiful that sounded, Auggie quickly added, "By choice."

Joan decided to just listen. She found herself taking liberties she never would have when Auggie could see her, staring openly at him as he searched for the words he wanted to say. Again, she wondered over how little he had changed, how utterly familiar he was despite the lack of eye contact.

Auggie placed his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him, "I haven't even let my brothers, my stepdad, visit. Only my mom has seen me."

Joan suddenly realized that, as hard as it might be for her to be around him, it was almost certainly much, much harder for him to be around her. She suddenly felt extremely insensitive for showing up like this. "Auggie, I - "

"I didn't want you to see me like this," he cut her off, and hurried into his next thought. "I wanted to get better first, make some progress."

Joan furrowed her brow and cocked her head to the side. This was new information. "Auggie, do your doctors think you'll recover?" she queried, genuinely curious.

"Oh," he uttered and Joan could see she'd misinterpreted his words. He sighed heavily. "No," he said, head down and eyes closed. "I'm blind. I'm gonna be blind," he said.

Joan brought a hand to her mouth. She felt stupid for misunderstanding, stupid for making him spell it out for her, stupid for being there. And she still didn't understand. "What did you mean about 'progress' then?" she inquired. _Stupidly_.

At this Auggie's head came up. He straightened his posture and directed his gaze at her. "Joan, I've been working here. Hard. I've got a plan. They've got all this, this, this technology now," he stuttered in his zeal. "I've already ordered a ton of software and equipment and it's a beast but I've been starting to learn Braille and I've figured I should be up and running at, at, at least 90% six months from now." Auggie licked his lips and proceeded urgently, "I don't have my laptop here, but I'm going home tomorrow and my plan is to - "

Joan's eyes widened as she abruptly realized what Auggie was proposing. "Auggie - " she tried to interject.

But he wouldn't be deterred; his eyes were aflame with desperation. He reached out and, finding Joan's forearm, gripped it with uncomfortable force. "You know I know that the reason the Agency was interested in me at the beginning was my code-writing, my hacking. That hasn't changed, Joan. I'm telling you, I can do everything I used to be able to do. I just need time, just a little time to get - "

"Auggie, stop," Joan pleaded, placing her hand on top of his, hoping to prompt him to loosen his grip. He removed his hand then, appearing embarrassed to realize that he'd physically grabbed her. "What exactly are you saying, Auggie?" Joan knew she needed to be crystal clear about his intentions.

"I wanna come back, Joan."

Joan closed her eyes and exhaled. That was exactly what she was hoping he _wasn't _going to say. "Oh, Auggie." She didn't mean it to sound patronizing, but she realized immediately that that's exactly how it sounded.

Auggie recoiled from her as a veil of anger and hurt fell over his features. He got up from the loveseat and stalked away from her. As he passed the small flat table that served as a desk, he caught his hip hard on the corner. "Shit!" he spat as he took a hand and angrily swiped the few things on it - a t-shirt, a pair of socks, a bottle of Gatorade - off the surface and onto the floor.

Joan sat stunned as Auggie reached the door. He twisted the knob and let the door fall open as he leaned against the wall next to it, forehead pressed against the sheetrock. "Maybe you should go," he said almost inaudibly.

Joan opened her mouth to speak. Then she shut it. Then she opened it. Then she shut it. She slowly got up from her seat, thankful she hadn't taken off her coat or even set her handbag down. She walked to the door and paused beside Auggie. She took a breath to speak, and then let it out. She passed through the doorway into the hall, and the door clicked shut quietly behind her.

She stood there for at least a minute, wanting desperately to rewrite the scene that had just transpired. Then she made her way to the end of the hallway, down the stairs, through the foyer, and into the cold February air. As she walked alongside the building to her rental car, she felt the tears coming and was selfishly glad Auggie wouldn't be able to see them from his darkened window above.


	17. Chapter 17

02.18.08

Auggie was sure he'd been sitting there with his head down, back against the wall, for over an hour when he picked up the familiar chirp coming down his hall. He made no move, even when he heard the light tap on his door. He knew it didn't matter if he didn't respond. Sure enough, after a moment, the door to his left creaked open.

"Holy batcave, Batman," she scolded as he heard her flip the light switch on. She walked across to the now-cleared table and placed what Auggie was sure was a food tray on it. The smell of Italian food reached his nose, garlic and basil and marinara. Then he heard her walk to his bed and the creak as she sat down, presumably facing him. "Wait, wait, don't tell me...girlfriend? Couldn't be a wife. I mean, because I assume you would've told me if you were married."

It was such a stretch, it took Auggie a moment to realize that Mel was talking about Joan. When it hit him, he sighed and shook his head.

"Oooh, ouch. So, _ex_-_girlfriend_, huh?" She was quiet a minute, and he could hear her swinging her leg from the side of the bed, scuffing her shoe on the hard floor. "Welp, no offense, but she kinda looked like a bitch. She definitely didn't look like anyone I would have pictured you with. I say, _adiós muchacha_."

She was so far off it was almost funny. _Almost_. Except Auggie didn't feel much like laughing right now. Or talking, for that matter.

"You missed dinner," she asserted, obviously referencing the tray she'd brought.

"Not hungry," Auggie grunted.

"Aw, bummer, I was looking forward to watching you try to eat spaghetti," she teased. After a moment, she relented, "Okay, I lied. It's lasagna. What do you think we are, a bunch of sadists around here?"

When Auggie didn't take the bait, she exhaled and stood. She crossed the room to him and he felt her warm hand on his forearm as she knelt beside him. Her now-familiar perfume filled his nostrils. "Hey," she said softly. "You're not the only one who's survived something awful, only to come back and be rejected by the people you love the most. It's actually a bit of a cliche in our dysfunctional little gimp sub-culture." Then she stood and opened the door.

But before she walked out, she added, "I have the overnight shift tonight, which means I'll be on premises all night. You need anything - even just to talk - dial 3232 on your room phone. G'night."

The door clicked shut and Auggie reached up and flicked the lights off. He was left alone with his thoughts once more.


	18. Chapter 18

02.19.08

The phone rang out shrilly in the overnight supervisor's room, startling Mel out of a sound sleep. "Shit," she mumbled, clawing the table beside her in search of the phone. "Lopez," she said hoarsely into the receiver when she'd found it and brought it to her ear.

"Hey," came the voice from the other end of the phone.

"Auggie. Son of a bitch. You know what a bad idea it is to wake up a vet like this, in the middle of the night?" She looked at the alarm clock's red numbers, which read 1:17AM. "You're just lucky I can't pack heat at the center."

"Oh," came the embarrassed reply. "I'm sorry - I thought - you said - "

"Auggie," she cut him off. "I'm effing with you. What's up?"

"Can you talk? Can we talk?" He sounded urgent.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Hey, are you okay?" The tone of his voice worried her.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine. I mean, I'm not _fine_," he amended. "But I'm not on my window ledge or anything, if that's what you're worried about," he scoffed. He was cracking jokes; that was a good sign.

"Well, considering you're only on the second floor, I'm glad to hear it. That'd be a pretty pathetic suicide attempt." Mel ran a hand sleepily over her face, feeling as always the thin ribbon of knotted, scarred skin running from her right temple down to her jaw where she'd been burned in the aftermath of the landmine explosion. She spoke through a yawn, "Okay, okay. Just let me get my legs on. I'll be right up."

"Oh," said Auggie, once more embarrassed. "I can come to you, if that's easier."

Mel snorted loudly into the receiver. "In what universe is it easier for the newly blind guy to find his way to a room he's never been to in a building he's never actually seen, than for the amputee to put her legs on and come to him?"

Auggie acknowledged her point with a laugh. "Fine. Excuse me for trying to be a gentleman. See you in a minute."

"'Kay."

Mel hung up the phone, feeling herself coming to life despite the late hour. She turned on the lamp on the bedside table and blinked at the sudden brightness. She moved to the foot of the bed and lifted herself with well-muscled arms onto the chair that sat just beyond it. Her legs leaned against the wall beside the chair, and she began the familiar process of donning her prostheses. Her right leg, a below the knee amputation, was easier, and she started there, as was her custom. Once she had it properly on, she stood and steadied herself against the wall in order to put on the other prosthetic leg, which began just above where her left knee had once been. When she was satisfied with the fit, she pulled on a pair of Army sweatpants over her shorts and a UM hoodie over her camisole and headed up to Auggie's room.

As she quietly made her way through the shadowy halls, she allowed herself to feel a pang of sadness that Auggie would be leaving the next day. The men she generally worked with - and they were almost exclusively men - were older, vets from Korea and Vietnam and Desert Storm whose age and combat injuries and years of hard living had led to a gradual loss of vision. Most of them weren't, would never be, totally blind. Mel found her work with them to be rewarding; many of them were the same age as her father, with the same amount of residual vision. She'd been told on more than one occasion that she had a certain way with them. The men left here with more dignity and self-sufficiency than they'd had in years, and she felt good about that.

But she'd never had an Auggie before. For starters, he was completely blind, a rarity in the world of visual impairment and an interesting challenge for her as an instructor. Second, holy crap, he was good-looking. She'd been taken aback the first day she'd come to his room, the day he'd thrown the cane. She'd assumed, with a name like "August," that he'd be another old coot. Uh, no. She guessed he was around her age, late twenties or early thirties. He was unshaven and his hair was a mess, but Mel could see the slightly cleft chin and broad shoulders that she was sure made him a hot ticket when he wasn't lying in bed feeling sorry for himself. Even if he wasn't exactly her type, she'd found herself sweating a little the evening she'd walked in on him stretching post-workout, shirtless. She believed the expression the kids were using these days was _day-um_.

For better or (usually) worse, she'd always been a sucker for soldiers. Not that her feelings for Auggie were overtly romantic._ I mean, I wouldn't kick him out of bed_, she thought with a snort, but the rapport with him was so natural and uncomplicated that she hated the thought of muddying the waters with anything lusty. Besides, the post-injury rebound was beyond trite, as was the whole "naughty nurse" angle. Not that she was his nurse, or even a nurse at all. But it was a little too close for comfort, and Mel felt herself gagging at the thought. Plus, blind guy and an amputee? There was a joke in there somewhere.

Mel halted her runaway train of thought as she arrived at Auggie's door. She knocked once as she opened it. "Hey," she said as she flipped on the lights. She was surprised to see Auggie in the same clothes she'd seen him wearing earlier: dark jeans and a grey v-neck sweater with a white crew neck t-shirt underneath. He was even still wearing his Nike running shoes, and sitting on a made bed. _Has he not gone to bed at all?_ "What's up, buttercup?" she inquired pleasantly, kicking his shoe and hip-checking his shoulder as she moved to sit down beside him on the bed.

"How many of the people you work with go back to what they were doing before they lost their sight?" he asked without preamble.

"Well, that's a complicated question," she responded as she scooted up to the head of the bed and rested her back against the wall. She pulled an elastic off her wrist and used it to form a messy bun, getting her hair out of her face.

"Why?" Auggie asked, twisting to face her.

"Most of the guys who come here haven't worked in years. Or they were near retirement age anyway, so it's easy for them to accept the idea of going home and hanging up their hat. They also aren't usually totally blind," Mel explained.

He seemed dissatisfied with her answer. Mel yawned and waited for him to continue as she surveyed his room. It looked like he'd packed up already, which brought that pang of sadness back. She pulled her hands up into her sleeves and placed them in the front pocket of her sweatshirt.

"Okay. Forget that question. In your professional opinion, how realistic do you think it is for a blind guy to go back to work after his injury?"

Mel lifted her eyebrows, "Depends on the blind guy, I guess. Are we talking about - " she held out the vowels " - you?"

"No, I gotta buncha blind buddies I'm asking for," Auggie retorted sarcastically.

"Well, again, kinda complicated question," Mel responded, nonplussed.

Auggie sighed in exasperation. "What's complicated about this one?"

"I'd say it has a lot to do with what the job is," Mel expanded. She paused and then added, "Auggie, if you're asking if I think Special Forces will take you back, I think you already know the answer to that one."

"I'm not talking about the Army," he said simply.

"What _are_ you talking about then?" Mel asked, confused. She didn't have a full employment history on Auggie or anything, but you didn't get to be a Green Beret by dabbling in the military. She'd assumed he was a career Army man. Or at least had planned to be.

Auggie sat silently for a long time before he spoke again. When he did, he drew his left leg up onto the bed, leaned back on his left arm, and turned his whole body so that he was facing her. "I assume you know that a lot of us Special Forces guys have - " he seemed to be searching for the right word, " - more than one _employer_."

Mel narrowed her eyes at Auggie. "Wait. Are you talking about - ? What is this? Are you _reading me in_?" she asked incredulously.

Auggie just sat there, mouth pursed tightly closed. His silence spoke volumes.

"Whoa," she remarked after a moment. "I don't think I know what you're asking anymore."

"The question is," Auggie repeated slowly, "how realistic is it to think I could go back..._to work_?"


	19. Chapter 19

02.19.08

When his alarm went off at 6 the next morning, Auggie had already been awake for an hour. He reached over and slapped the off button, then sat up and listened to his rapidly beating heart. This was it. The VISOR program was over, and he was heading home today. He got up and started the shower. As he stood under the water, trying to relax, he recalled the conversation he'd had the night before with Mel.

It had been an unorthodox and risky move, reading her in. He'd only known her for 2 weeks, after all. But he felt like he'd known her for much, much longer than that. He trusted her. Besides, she was ex-military and understood things a civilian wouldn't have. Like the fact that the Special Forces were riddled with CIA operatives. And with her particular set of skills, she was probably the only person who could help him work out the kinks in the plan that had been forming in his head. His plan to get back to the CIA.

Auggie stepped out of the shower and began getting ready for what he assumed would be a long and stressful day. He packed up his toiletries and began to sweep his room for anything he'd left behind as he allowed his mind to replay the events that had happened earlier the day before.

Joan's rejection had crushed him, but in retrospect he should have seen it coming. _Har har_, he thought to himself, realizing at once that he had somehow unwittingly reached a certain level of acceptance over the last 24 hours. So much so that he was now making self-deprecating blind jokes in his own head. A wan grin passed over his face, before he remembered Joan's visit once more. It had been painful on so many levels, but mainly because he'd read her so wrong. She hadn't come to chastise him, and she definitely hadn't come to invite him back to the Agency. She'd come simply to see him. Scratch that. She'd come to see him _one last time; _she'd come to say goodbye_. _

Of all the possible reasons for her visit, that was the one he hadn't expected, and it stung like hell. He'd never felt so discarded, so utterly _dispensed with_. A bubble of acrimony rose in his throat and he swallowed it painfully down. He couldn't afford to become bitter. Besides, in a sane moment, like the one he was presently having, he realized that he would have done the same thing in Joan's position. He was the one making the wild proposition, and even he wasn't truly certain he could pull it off. Blind guy working for the Central Intelligence Agency? It sounded like the start of a bad joke.

As he stripped his bed, he heard the knock he'd been expecting. "Come in," he called as he struck the talk button on the alarm clock. 7AM, on the dot.


	20. Chapter 20

02.19.08

"Hey, soldier," came Mel's warm voice.

"Hey, yourself," Auggie returned affectionately, leaving the sheets in a bundle in the center of the bed, and standing up straight.

"All packed up?" she asked, and Auggie heard a strange tone in her voice.

"You tell me," he replied, spreading his arms wide to indicate the room around him.

"Didn't miss a spot," she affirmed. Then he thought he heard her sniffle.

He tilted his head and twisted his mouth into a half-smile, "You gonna miss me or something?" he queried mischievously.

"Oh, shut up," she snapped, and now he definitely caught the tears in her voice.

"Hey," he was suddenly serious. "C'mere," he commanded, again opening his arms wide.

He listened to Mel slowly across the room. When he gauged she was close enough, he reached out and pulled her into a hug. He'd touched her a lot these past two weeks, by necessity, but nothing like this. This was intimacy on a new level. He rested his chin on her head and smoothed her soft, wavy hair with his hand. He was struck once more by how natural they were together. She smelled great and he could feel for the first time the appealing contours of her body; he realized that she was much slighter than he'd guessed from her toned arms. The animal male in him responded with all sorts of creative ideas, but his frontal lobe shut it down. This girl was not an object, a toy. She was sacred, and he wanted to keep her that way.

When Mel pulled away from him a minute later, he could feel the air hit the damp spot she'd left on the front of his shirt. Not wanting to embarrass her further, he decided not to mention it. Besides, he was feeling a little emotional at the moment, too, and figured people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. "So..." he started.

"I have something for you," she interrupted, and retrieved a bag she'd left in the hall. She grabbed his hand and placed a smallish package in it. "I only had Christmas wrapping paper. Sorry." Then she laughed, "I don't know why I told you that. Forget I said it. It's not Christmas wrapping paper. It's the perfect, February-est wrapping paper ever."

"I'm still gonna picture Santas and reindeer," he insisted teasingly, turning the soft parcel over in his hands and finding a seam in the paper. He ripped it open and unfurled what he figured was a t-shirt. He ran his hand over the front, touching something screen printed onto it. "Should I be worried?" he asked with a chuckle and a raised eyebrow.

"Don't you trust me?" she asked mockingly.

"Uh, _no_," Auggie responded.

Mel snickered. "It says, 'Keep Staring. I Might Do A Trick.' A friend from rehab gave me one just like it a few years back."

Auggie laughed aloud and pulled the shirt over the long-sleeved thermal he was already wearing. "How do I look?"

Her reply was predictable: "Badass."


	21. Chapter 21

02.19.08

Mel walked dispiritedly back through the VISOR center's double doors. She'd just said her final goodbye to Auggie, and watched him drive away, and she wasn't sure what to do with herself at the moment. She considered crying, and then berated herself for being an idiot. She trudged back to the supervisor's quarters to clean and pack up before the next shift came on.

Auggie's mom and stepdad had shown up a little after 8AM and Mel wasn't surprised to see that they appeared well-to-do. Auggie had talked a bit about them, including the fact that his stepdad, Alan, was a long-time Illinois state senator. Mel had gotten pretty animated when Auggie had accidentally revealed the fact that Alan was friendly with the current hotshot presidential candidate from his home state, but he'd refused to go into any further detail about it. He'd rolled his eyes at her excitement and changed the subject. _Annoyingly_. He had pretty strenuously avoided talk of his privileged upbringing, and Mel figured it was because of the dismissive way she'd reacted when he'd named his hometown the first night they'd really talked.

Alan Cole was straight out of central casting. He wore casual clothes, a button down and jeans, but Mel could see that they were the expensive kind. She remembered that Auggie had mentioned that Alan, even before his successful political career, had come from money. With a head of dignified white hair, he stood at least 6'4". His imposing height was counter-pointed by his wife's petite stature. _This tiny lady had five kids? Five boys?_ Mel found herself thinking in amazement. But that wasn't the only way in which Jan Anderson-Cole surprised Mel; she was expecting dark hair and eyes like Auggie's, but apparently he favored his father. Jan had very blonde hair and wide blue eyes and even well into what Mel was sure were her sixties, she was a beautiful woman. It wasn't until she spoke that Mel picked up the resemblance between her and her youngest son; they shared a lexicon of gestures and facial expressions.

Mel had assumed she would feel uncomfortable around their type, but both of them radiated the same warmth and charisma that Auggie did. They were both also quite funny, and Mel understood where Auggie got his sense of humor. Alan and Jan had been gracious and attentive as she'd led them through a customary 2-hour orientation to Auggie's new life and habits; it wasn't just the trainees at the center who needed to learn a new way of doing things. Auggie had seemed uncomfortable throughout the process, and Mel definitely understood that. Nothing quite so welcome or awkward as reintroducing yourself to your family and old friends after what he and she had lived through. Coming back to the people who knew you before the injury was bittersweet that way.

Reaching into the closet of the little room, she pulled out her small duffel and opened it to begin putting her few overnight supplies back into it. As she unzipped it, however, something yellow at the bottom of the bag caught her eye. It was a Post-It, and it was attached to her iPod. It said simply, in what she recognized as Seth's blocky handwriting, "PLAY."

She removed the note and unraveled the earbuds, not allowing herself to hope it was what she wanted it to be. When she pressed play on the voice memo that was highlighted on the screen, Auggie's familiar baritone filled her ears and she let out a short, happy laugh.

"Okay, is it recording? You're sure?"

Mel could hear Seth's affirmative whisper faintly in the background.

"All right, give me a minute, okay?"

Again, she could hear Seth's murmured assent and then a door open and close.

"Hey, Mel," Auggie spoke into the microphone, and Mel beamed as she felt happy tears form in her eyes. "Here's the thing: You are incredibly annoying, and stubborn, and ornery as hell. So, basically, the girl version of me...assuming you're as easy on the eyes as I hear you are, that is." She snorted at the compliment he'd just given to himself.

Then he whispered, and Mel felt herself illogically leaning in to make sure she caught every word: "I think Seth has a crush on you, by the way, if you're wondering where I'm getting my intel," he shared with a chuckle. She shook her head at mention of the 20-something community college student. Seth was very sweet, but _nope_.

"Anyway, I don't really know what to say here, but I was too afraid to try to write a note, and I couldn't leave without telling you - " He stopped to clear his throat, and emotion filled his voice when he started speaking again. "I couldn't leave without telling you how much I appreciated you hanging with me. I know I wasn't always easy to be around these past two weeks, but I don't know what I would have done if you'd given up on me. So," he cleared his throat again, "thanks for that." Almost as if it was an afterthought, he appended, "You know when you just know that someone is doing what they're supposed to be doing in life? Well, you're doing it, Mel."

Mel was touched by his words, more than he could have guessed she would be when he spoke them. "All right, movin' on," he declared, and she could hear a shift to lighter things. "If Seth did this right, and he better have, since I'm tipping him handsomely for it, you should have a bag under your bed. Go ahead, get it. I'll wait on the line since, uh, I have no idea how to press pause," he laughed.

She listened to him breathe while she scrambled onto the floor to peer under the bed. Sure enough, there was a brown paper bag, which she hadn't quite gotten when Auggie's deep voice once again rumbled out of her earbuds. "I got you a couple things. Going away gifts, I guess you'd call 'em. First bag should be labeled with a one," he advised and Mel finally snagged the sack and dug out the bag with a Sharpie'd "1" on it. "Open it," he commanded, and Mel did.

She leaned back against the desk with the bag in her lap. Her brow furrowed as she pulled out a bottle of talcum powder. _Was not expecting that_. She waited for Auggie to explain. "As much as I've appreciated your 'early warning system,' that squeak can't be good for the hardware. I did some research in the computer lab when you weren't looking - at least I think you weren't looking - and they say baby powder is good for that." It took Mel a moment, but then she realized there was something else in the bag. When she pulled out the other object, she understood immediately and threw her head back and laughed. The second item was a pair of Spectra socks, which protected the inner mechanism of a prosthetic foot from damage from the carbon structures surrounding it. They were also crucial for preventing the foot from _squeaking_. Mel knew hers needed to be replaced, but hadn't had the time to order a new pair yet. They were generally only available through a prosthetist, and Mel found herself wondering how Auggie had obtained them. "As for the socks, I got a friend," he explained, reading her mind. "What? You think you're the only amputee I know? I was in the Army when you were practically in high school," he scoffed. "However, since I can't have you sneaking up on me after you fix that foot, I got you something else, too."

Mel smiled at the idea of seeing him again and dug deeper into the sack. She pulled out a small bag labeled "2."

"If you can't figure out that the next bag is marked with a two, well, then I just don't know what to tell you," he joked. "Open it," he instructed again.

Mel pulled it out and gasped. It was a bottle of her perfume. A big bottle. And it was not cheap stuff.

"Don't ask me how I knew. That's a blind man secret," he intoned fake-seriously, and she rolled her eyes. She distinctly remembered Seth asking her 5 days earlier what the name of her perfume was. She'd thought it was an odd question, but now of course it made sense.

"Okay, gotta go," he said gruffly, and Mel heard the emotion underneath his words. "Seth! Come turn this thing off," he hollered. She heard a door open, and then footsteps, and then rustling, and then nothing. The recording was over. She sat for a long time staring at the iPod. Then she slowly put it back into her duffel, along with her gifts. Before she put the perfume in, however, she opened the box and pulled the bottle out. She spritzed a bit onto her wrist and smiled as she inhaled what she thought of as her signature scent.

She loved this stuff. Not too girly, not too floral. A little spicy, but still feminine. _Kinda like me, _she thought with a smile. She smirked as she put it back in the box; it wasn't actually particularly citrus-y, despite its name:

_Jo Malone Grapefruit._


	22. Chapter 22

02.19.08

Joan stepped out of the terminal at Dulles and searched the oncoming cars for the familiar black Range Rover. It was mid-morning on a cold, clear Tuesday, and Joan was grateful that Arthur had been able to pull briefly away from work to come grab her. After a moment, she spotted him pulling up to arrivals and walked quickly to him with her carry-on. The sadness and unease she'd been feeling for the past 18 hours abated somewhat at the sight of her handsome husband in a charcoal suit.

"Sweetheart," he called, getting out of the car to greet her with a kiss and place her suitcase in the back.

She climbed into the passenger seat, comforted by the familiar smell of Arthur's cologne, which filled the warm interior. As Arthur entered the vehicle, he reached for her and they clasped hands briefly across the center console. Once settled in the car, they pulled into airport traffic and threaded their way onto the freeway headed east toward Langley.

"How are you?" Arthur inquired, glancing momentarily at her.

Joan sighed heavily and shrugged out of her overcoat. She had called Arthur shortly after leaving the VISOR center the night before, but he'd been in the middle of pressing business and they weren't able to talk more than a minute before Midge had interrupted with something urgent. Joan had waited up in her hotel room for his call back until she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, then reluctantly texted him good night and that she would fill him in when she saw him the next day. That was the way it was with them, and it was mutually understood.

"I take it it didn't go well," he inferred. He didn't know much, only that Joan had been crying when she'd called.

"That would be an understatement," Joan remarked wistfully. Arthur once more looked toward her, but didn't say anything this time.

"He's..." Joan began. But she wasn't sure how to continue. On the one hand, Arthur was her husband. But he was also Auggie's boss and mentor (_former boss and mentor?_). Joan found herself torn between wanting desperately to confide in her husband, and feeling a powerful urge to protect Auggie. He'd been so vulnerable last night, and she was sure he wouldn't want Arthur to know the extent of it.

"He's blind," she spoke at last, surprised that those were the words that had finally escaped her lips.

Arthur didn't speak, but Joan caught his lips purse and his jaw twitch. He reached across to once again take her hand in his, and this time he didn't let go.

She averted her gaze, taking in the passing scenery. "He wanted to come back, Arthur," she disclosed after a minute, still worrying that she was exposing Auggie in a way that he wouldn't want.

"Pardon?" Arthur asked, eyebrows raised.

"He wanted to come back to work," she repeated, turning to face Arthur.

"At the CIA, you mean?" Arthur's tone was incredulous.

"Of course, at the CIA," Joan snapped, though she wasn't sure why she was so irritated by his question. She figured it probably had to do with the stress of the trip and lingering feelings of guilt and regret.

Again he glanced at her, seeming slightly shocked by her tone as well. "And what did you tell him?"

"What do you think I told him?" she rejoined, now in open exasperation.

"Well, I assume you told him that it wouldn't be possible," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Of course that's what I told him," she sighed. Joan was quiet for a moment. Then she asked softly, "It is, isn't it? Impossible?"

"I can't even imagine how that would be remotely possible, Joan," he affirmed.

Joan turned once again to gaze out her window at the familiar route back to Langley.

It was what Joan had been hoping he'd say.

And also what she had been hoping he _wouldn't _say.


	23. Chapter 23

02.19.08

The morning had gone more or less how Auggie had expected it to, which didn't mean it hadn't been hard. There was a part of Auggie that had deeply missed Alan and his mom. However, it wasn't so much that they felt like strangers, but that he did. Also, it wasn't exactly like getting picked up from the airport for Christmas leave.

The orientation with Mel had been helpful, if at times awkward for Auggie. As usual, Mel had been knowledgeable and disarmingly funny. He could sense that she put his parents at ease. But even Mel couldn't fix this weirdness completely. Not even close.

Now Auggie sat in the back seat of the X5, left temple pressed against the cool glass of the window. There'd been a minor kerfuffle as Auggie had reached the car with Mel, when Jan had insisted that Auggie take shotgun. She'd made up some story about liking the seats in the back better, in response to which Auggie had rolled his eyes and climbed into the rear anyway.

He could appreciate what she was trying to do, which he assumed was attempting to make him feel not so much like a little kid getting picked up from school. But it only served to highlight the fact that things were different in a way that there was no mitigating. Auggie would not be navigating for Alan, nor would he be swapping seats with him to take over for any of the three-hour drive home.

_Home_. The word aroused complicated feelings in Auggie. He had, of course, always considered his parents' house in Glencoe to be _one of_ his homes. Definitely the most important one, the one associated with the most emotions, and those overwhelmingly positive. It was a constant that didn't change whether he was at Langley, in the desert of Iraq, or in some other remote spot on the globe. And he'd taken pains to make sure his work life never intruded on that hallowed place and the people he loved there. He really _did_ love it there.

But now that he didn't have any other options, the thought of returning home made his stomach flip. The lease on his place in DC had been scheduled to come up in the middle of his deployment, so he'd moved all his stuff to Glencoe before he'd left. Obviously, the plan had been to move back to DC when he returned from Iraq. But now the plans had changed.

He was 27 years old, blind, and leaving a full life and promising career to go back to his hometown and live with his parents for the indefinite future. It was a thoroughly depressing series of thoughts, and one that would have surely overwhelmed him if not for the small seed of hope he was carrying. The hope that he and Mel had cultivated together the night before.

"You need anything?" Jan's voice shook Auggie from his thoughts. They were two hours into the trip, and though the first hour had been filled with conspicuously small talk about friends and family, the three of them had lapsed into silence for the past hour.

"I'm good," he responded.

There was a beat, and then came her strained reply: "Are you?"

"Mom..." he began with a sigh.

"No, Aug, listen. I don't want it to be like this. I don't want us to avoid talking about this because it's hard."

"I have no idea what you're referring to," he retorted, more sarcastically than he meant. He really _wasn't _sure what - precisely - she wanted to talk about. There were more than a few juicy options.

"Stop," she ordered, in the voice that demanded to be obeyed, the one she'd used throughout his youth. Auggie set his jaw and took a deep breath through his nose.

After a beat, she continued, "I can't imagine how hard this must be for you. Coming home with us. But I want you to know that we're going to do whatever we have to do to help you be independent...as independent as you can be."

Now Auggie really felt queasy, and it wasn't motion sickness. "Mom," he said firmly, "We're not having this conversation right now."

"Alan," Jan implored, and Auggie heard his stepfather sigh. He imagined some very loaded looks were passing between them.

"I don't know what to say, Aug," he finally admitted. "We're just as lost here as you are."

Auggie snorted, again almost involuntarily. He moved his head from against the window, leaned back on his headrest, and closed his eyes. For some reason, the 17-year-old punk he'd been when last he'd lived with them was threatening to possess him now. He knew that the only way to contain that pubescent version of himself was to firmly shut his mouth and keep it that way. He heard rustling in the front passenger seat and somehow knew that his mother was staring at him. He let his breathing level out and hoped she'd believe he was sleeping.

The ruse worked so well, he _did_ fall asleep.


	24. Chapter 24

02.19.08

Auggie drowsily came to as the BMW transitioned from the freeway to surface streets and he heard the navigation system announce Dundee Road. A smile passed fleetingly across his face as he recalled how terrible Alan was with directions. He and Auggie's mother were both also hopeless with technology. The two facts together explained why they were still taking directions from their car's computer less than 3 miles from the Longwood Ave home they'd lived in for the past 18 years.

Auggie was embarrassed to realize that his catnap had improved his mood. He silently scolded himself for once again acting like a child, then acknowledged he'd really only gotten a couple of hours of sleep the night before. Anyone might be grumpy in that situation, he told himself. _Sure. It was the lack of sleep_. _Right_. He shifted in his seat, rubbed his eyes, and heard his mother turn in her seat once more to look at him.

"Almost home," she said softly.

"Yeah," he answered. "I heard."

"Oh," she sounded embarrassed. "Yeah, we still don't know how to work this damn thing. It's just easier to let it take us all the way home."

He smiled and found the control for his window with his left hand. He lowered the glass an inch, and let the freezing air wake him up the rest of the way.

"There snow?" he asked.

"Um, just a little bit. It snowed last week, and there's still some on the ground," she answered. "I'm not sure we'll get much more this season. It's been a weird winter."

"Any ice on the lake?"

"Not this far south."

"Hm."

Suddenly a nauseating thought struck Auggie and he sat up straight in his seat. "Hey," he said urgently. "You guys didn't...plan anything, did you?" The idea of some kind of "welcome home" party was enough to make Auggie light-headed with anxiety.

"You mean, besides the big party?" Jan answered innocently.

Auggie's stomach dropped as he felt himself begin to get physically ill.

"Ah, don't worry, Aug - it'll be lots of fun. We rented a pony, there'll be a clown. Unfortunately, the moonwalk was all booked up, though," she ended ruefully.

A grin spread slowly across Auggie's face as he exhaled and relaxed back into his seat. He guessed he'd deserved that. _She was kidding. Thank God, she was kidding._ "No moonwalk's okay. As long as there's face-painting," he smirked.

Jan snorted laughter and Alan chuckled.

"I like your shirt, by the way," Alan added.


	25. Chapter 25

02.20.08

Waking up the next morning at his parents' house, Auggie could almost believe that he was just there on a visit. _Almost_. Of course, the roomful of his belongings and the cane on his nightstand begged to differ.

As long as he'd been in Iraq, his stuff had stayed boxed up in his parents' garage. But after he'd been injured, and it became clear that he wasn't going to be returning to DC anytime soon, his mother had converted the room over the garage into a little apartment and unpacked everything there. Auggie was relieved that the bedroom on the main floor that had been his growing up was now a yoga studio for his mother. It was the little things, like not having to _actually_ move back into his childhood bedroom, that were helping him hang on to some shred of dignity.

_Dignity_. He grimaced as he considered whether his mother had come across condoms or any other awkward, Big-Boy-Auggie items when she'd unloaded his junk. Of course, he had plenty of other, more important things to hide. But he'd placed anything affiliated with the Agency in secure storage on-site at Langley before he'd headed to Glencoe prior to deployment, so at least neither he nor the CIA had had to worry about cleaning that up while he'd been lying injured in the hospital.

Auggie yawned, stretched his lanky body, and sat up in bed with the sheets pooled around his waist. That's when it suddenly occurred to him that it might not actually be morning yet. It somehow _felt_ like morning. But for all he knew, it could still be the middle of the night. His sleep schedule wasn't exactly well-established at the center. And Illinois, though a neighbor, was a full hour behind Michigan. He knew there was a window above his bed, but in the dead of winter like this, he couldn't rely on the sun's warmth to clue him in to its presence. He started to feel a little panicky and cursed himself for forgetting last night to set up the talking alarm clock that he'd had sent to Glencoe, along with some other essential adaptive stuff, before he'd left Michigan. It was a sharp reminder of his new limitations. It also emphasized how much he still had to learn about being a functional blind person, where the main dictum was like the Boy Scouts' motto, but on steroids: Always, _Always_, **_Always_** Be Prepared. He was ticking through his limited options when he heard the throaty roar of Alan's BMW starting up in the garage beneath him, and sighed with relief. He knew Alan needed to be in Springfield for the day on legislative business. He also knew that Alan customarily left at 5AM to make it to the capitol on time.

For Auggie's entire childhood, Alan had lived in Springfield during the week when the general assembly was in session, which was almost half the year. He kept a small condo there - a bachelor pad of sorts - and Auggie knew that Alan's long absences had been a factor in his mother's affair years ago. After they'd reconciled, Alan had changed his habits. Now he only stayed in Springfield when he absolutely had to, most often three days a week. He'd worked diligently in the past five years to revive his part-time law practice in town, which his mother had lobbied hard for. Auggie knew it wasn't about the money; a gig in the Illinois state senate certainly didn't pay well, but Alan came from East Coast old money and that well wasn't in any danger of drying up. Still, Alan was an unusually driven public servant, and it had been a sacrifice for him to give up some of what he felt was his vital work in the capitol to come home to practice law, to say nothing of letting go of any further political ambitions. But it had made Auggie's mother happy, and it had kept their family together, and Auggie respected Alan immensely for it.

Auggie laid back down in bed. He was caught in a dilemma though: He didn't feel like getting up yet, but he was also afraid that if he fell asleep again, he'd wake up even less sure of what time it was. He tossed and turned for awhile and finally rolled out of bed with a disgruntled growl. He'd be seeing two of his brothers today for the first time in 8 months; might as well get a jump-start on his day.


	26. Chapter 26

02.20.08

Auggie made his way down the stairs from his apartment, cane in hand. If he'd counted correctly the day before, it would be ten steps across the driveway to the front door. But before he'd made it half that distance, he felt the crunch of gravel under his shoes. _That wasn't right_. He froze and felt sweat start to bead on his forehead despite the chill air. Obviously he knew he was just steps from his house; it wasn't like he was lost in the jungle. But anything unexpected was disorienting and frightening these days.

Somehow he'd strayed off course. He'd already experienced this drifting, always in the direction of his dominant right leg. But it was more alarming here, without Mel's careful eyes on him. He realized how much he'd relied on her, even when she was only observing from a distance.

_Mel_. Thinking of her brought her voice to life in his head and he found himself recalling the strategies he'd learned for getting back on track in this situation. He and Mel had drilled the so-called checking procedure: her leading him off-course, then forcing him to find his way back onto the sidewalk or path, again and again. He extended his cane as far as he could in front of himself and then dragged it back along the ground toward his feet. _More gravel_. He extended the cane at a 45 degree angle to his left, and came into contact with the firm asphalt of the driveway. Auggie allowed himself to exhale. Before the bomb, he never would have guessed how much information could travel up the shaft of one of these red and white canes. But he'd still only been using the thing for fewer than two full weeks, and he was far from expert in all of its applications. Auggie corrected his course and, in a few short steps, found himself at the front door of his childhood home.

He opened the door and immediately smelled brewing coffee. "Hello?" he called out, taking two tentative steps into the entry.

"Oh, Aug, I'm in here. I mean, I'm in the kitchen. I mean, oh, just hold on a sec," came Jan's flustered reply as he heard her hurry to where he stood. "Um, do you need me to guide you, or do you - "

"Yeah, that'd be good, I think," he said as he cleared his throat, feeling his mother clumsily offer him a lead. She grabbed his hand, and he had to gently extricate it before tracking up her arm to her elbow. Once again, his thoughts turned to Mel and how much easier things seemed when she was around. Not that he could blame his mother - she'd never been around a blind person before. Hell, _he'd_ never been around a blind person before he'd become one.

"You're up early," Jan remarked as they entered the kitchen.

"Yeah...Uh, what time is it, exactly?" Auggie inquired.

"Just after six."

"Oh." Auggie felt a stir of gratitude that his mom was still an early riser. "I forgot to set up my clock before I turned in last night. Wasn't really sure it was actually morning until I heard Alan take off," he explained.

"Oh, shit," Jan muttered, chagrined. "I'm sorry - I didn't think of it either."

"S'okay," Auggie reassured, shaking his head. "Not your responsibility." The last thing he wanted was his mother to start feeling like she needed to look out for him.

"You want coffee?" Jan offered, as she removed Auggie's hand from her arm and lightly placed it on one of the stools that abutted the island in the center of the kitchen.

"Thought you'd never ask," he smiled, as he broke down his cane and placed it on the smooth granite counter. He took a seat and listened as his mother busied herself with the coffeemaker.

"Um, here?" Jan spoke hesitantly after a moment, and Auggie realized that she was holding the cup out to him.

"Ma, you've gotta be more specific," he sighed, extending his right hand. He felt the hot mug touch his fingertips and instinctively withdrew them. "No, back of the hand," he corrected, and Jan did as he instructed.

He took the cup and inhaled the aroma before setting it down in front of himself to let it cool for a moment. He heard an odd little noise escape his mother, and frowned toward her.

"I feel like I'm failing at this," she admitted in a small voice.

"Mom, don't. It's fine," he soothed.

"I just feel like an idiot. I'm trying to anticipate what you need, but I feel like I'm not doing a very good job of it. I've never felt so incompetent. I mean, you're my _son_. You're my_ Auggie_. And I'm finding I just don't know what to say or do. I keep tripping up on the details. And...am I making any sense here?" she trailed off.

The corner of Auggie's mouth lifted in a half-smirk. "Mom. Relax. If this is how you react to handing me a coffee mug the wrong way, this is gonna be a very long day."

Jan let out a small laugh, but he could tell she wasn't ready to drop the issue yet.

"Just promise you won't give up on me," she pleaded.

Auggie exhaled and looked down, closing his eyes. He spoke quietly to the counter:

"I won't give up on you, if you don't give up on me."


	27. Chapter 27

_A/N: I've edited this chapter to reflect my new understanding of precisely how Mac visual impairment-accessibility works. I got it wrong the first time around. Oops. Oh well, can't win 'em all._

* * *

02.20.08

After coffee and breakfast together, Jan offered to go back up to Auggie's apartment with him and help him get some of his things set up.

First up, the alarm clock. "Well, she's perky," Jan commented, amused by the sound of the voice that rang out from the clock's speaker when she tested it.

Auggie smiled as he sat at the desk unpacking his laptop. The Mac had come standard with accessibility features before Auggie had ever needed them. He'd spent a considerable amount of his time at the VISOR center in the computer lab, since computers had been an integral part of his life since he was a teenager, and he felt a little naked without access to them. It was slow and frustrating and a work-in-progress, but it had been a priority for him to figure out how to interface with them without his sight. Relearning his way around a computer was also crucial to his plan to get back to work.

"What's next?" Jan inquired, standing up and walking over to place a hand on Auggie's shoulder.

"I got a bunch of clothes I need to sort through. I could use your help with that," Auggie replied, patting her hand and then standing to walk to the closet.

Auggie and Mel had cataloged the clothes Auggie had with him at the center. But that didn't amount to even a quarter of his wardrobe. If Auggie was going to have any hope of dressing himself competently, he needed to go through all his clothes now and add tactile hints so that he could distinguish similar-feeling items from one another. There were many ways to do this, braille tags being one of the most popular, and the one Auggie had chosen.

Trouble was, Auggie had developed only the most rudimentary understanding of Braille so far. He'd assumed it would be easy - how hard could it really be to memorize a code? That's what it was, after all. Unlike sign language for the deaf, which was actually a proper language unto itself, Braille was simply a cipher for English. Ciphers were squarely in his wheelhouse, he'd reasoned. With his computer science degree and spy skills, it should've been simple. _Should've been_. But he'd failed to consider a few very crucial points.

For one, his fingers had grown calloused from his time in the desert. This made it difficult to detect the small, raised dots of Braille that were embossed onto paper or labels.

But more than that, Auggie had totally underestimated the trouble his brain was going to have in allotting some fraction of his considerable visual memory space to this new, tangible approach to written language. Even when Auggie correctly distinguished a Braille character or word, he was increasingly frustrated to realize that, by the end of one short line of text, he'd often forgotten the first half of it.

This had terrified him. He'd been brain-injured, after all - could this be a symptom of that? Would he ever be able to learn complex things again? Was this issue with memory going to creep up on him in other areas?

He'd reluctantly shared his fears with Mel after one particularly maddening Braille session, but she'd assured him that what he was experiencing was decidedly normal for adult learners of Braille. She'd promised him that the problem would resolve with practice. Unfortunately, that was also the _only_ solution. Even for someone as competent as Auggie, Braille wouldn't come overnight.

His unsophisticated skills notwithstanding, Auggie figured there was no better way to learn than to jump into the deep end. If matching his clothes wasn't good enough motivation to be diligent about learning Braille, he didn't know what would be. Besides, the braille tags were just a few letters long and didn't contain any of the baffling contractions or punctuation marks that made literary Braille such a pain in the ass to get a handle on. After a half hour of sorting, Jan placed a box of Auggie's clothes near the door; she'd offered to sew the tiny aluminum tags on later that afternoon. That, at least, was something she could do without making him feel babied - what grown man, blind or not, wouldn't accept sewing help from his mother?

The two passed the next hour unboxing and unpacking the rest of Auggie's belongings. When the apartment felt more or less ready, Jan tactfully excused herself so that Auggie could shower and get himself ready for the day. She grabbed the clothes box and headed downstairs.

"Oh hey," Auggie called out as Jan reached the driveway.

"Yeah?" she asked, walking over and peering back up the staircase. A moment later Auggie reappeared at the door, holding two identically-shaped white bottles. "Mind telling me which one of these is shampoo and which one is conditioner?" he requested with an apologetic smile.

"Um, let's see," Jan replied, setting down the box and making her way back up the steps so she could get a good look. "Okay, left hand is shampoo and right is conditioner."

"Good to know," Auggie said, slipping a rubber band off his wrist and onto the neck of the shampoo.

Jan turned to go back down the steps.

"Oh, and Ma..."

"Yeah?"

"...thank you."


	28. Chapter 28

_ETA A/N: This chapter goes out to **MuttsandMoggies**, mother of a Marine, and the person who (unbeknownst to her) inspired this chapter in my head._

* * *

02.20.08

As Jan entered the main house with the box of Auggie's clothes, she suddenly found herself so overwhelmed with emotion that she sat down just a few steps into the entryway. She knew that she should be shattered, completely undone, by what had happened to Auggie. _Her baby_. His life would never be the same. At this point, Jan wasn't sure if he'd need to live with them for the rest of his life. Would he ever marry? Have children? _Have a job?_ She had next to no knowledge of what blind people were capable of; it was particularly apropos to say that she felt like she was groping in the dark here.

She also knew that some people would probably consider her family cursed after this. _Probably already had_, she amended silently, thinking of a certain group of fat, bored women at the country club who had watched her enviously for years. With the early death of her first husband, then the devastating loss of Tim when he was just a sophomore at U of I, she and her surviving boys had seen more tragedy in their lives by the time they were adults than most people experienced in an entire lifetime.

And now this. Auggie was blind. He was 27 years old, a young man in the prime of his life. _And he was blind_. She knew she should feel crushed.

She stood up then, leaving the box where it was, and walked slowly down the hallway. She came to a stop in front of the familiar photo, the one snapped on the shores of Lake Michigan in 1982. Taken when Auggie was just a toddler, it was the only picture Jan had of all her boys together with their father.

There was Andrew Sr., the boys' dad. With the same chestnut curls and prominent, expressive eyebrows, Auggie looked the most like him. Jan remembered how comforted she had been, shortly after Andrew's passing, to know that at least one of her boys resembled him. He held a giggling Auggie on his muscular shoulders.

Then there was Tim, with his mischievous smile and long, lanky arms and legs. In the photo, he was front and center, a classic middle child desperate for attention. His arms were thrown wide, and his tongue hung out of his mouth as he made a goofy grin. The sun reflected off his golden hair, so similar to his mother's.

Jan hadn't cried over this photo in a long, long time. But now she felt the familiar stinging in her sinuses that let her know the tears were coming. She knew trying to stop them would be futile. So she leaned her head against the wall, placed her hand on the photo's frame, and cried.

But they weren't melancholy tears. They were tears of relief, and gratitude. Twice before she had learned that people she loved more than her own life weren't coming home. Would never come home again.

_But Auggie had come home._


	29. Chapter 29

02.20.08

Auggie sat nervously on the living room couch, only half-listening to the Bulls-Nets game playing on TV. His mother was in her bedroom at the back of the house getting ready, and Mike had texted her 20 minutes ago to let her know he'd be there in a half hour. Mike lived and worked in Chicago but, as a bachelor, was a frequent dinner guest at their parents' place. Andy hadn't texted, which wasn't unusual, but he and his wife, Kim, were also expected any minute. Auggie was growing increasingly fidgety as their arrivals grew ever more imminent. He stood and made his way to the fridge; a beer would definitely help.

He'd spent two hours after lunch mapping out the main house with his cane and counting paces between landmarks. The idea was not to need his cane in the house by the time his brothers came over that night. The bones of the house were, of course, very familiar to him. But since Jan was an obsessive re-decorator, little else was. When he'd finally felt like he had a handle on the layout, he'd ended his explorations in the kitchen, where the only new thing was a rugged, rectangular farmhouse table that had replaced a large oval one they'd had since Auggie was little.

Now Auggie made his way to the kitchen, trying to walk normally and double-checking his step count. _Hallelujah_. He made it to the fridge without incident. He grabbed a beer, felt for the magnetic bottle opener stuck to the side of the fridge, and popped the top. Then he walked toward the breakfast nook, running his hand over the rough stones of the kitchen fireplace as he made his way to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of Lake Michigan. A view he'd never see again, he thought, with a heaviness in his chest.

Shaking his head as if to physically knock the thought loose from his mind, he grasped the handle of the French door and exited the kitchen to stand on the bumpy, flagstone patio. He inhaled deeply, letting the frigid air fill his lungs as he breathed in the familiar smells of the lake. If he couldn't see it, well, he could draw in its scent, shiver at the winter wind blowing off of it, listen to the waves lap the shore of the private stretch of beach below. As he stood there taking in his own personal version of the view, he heard the doors open behind him.

"Auggie!"

Auggie couldn't help it; brooding mood notwithstanding, he broke into a wide smile at the sound of his brother's voice. He turned to face him.

"Mikey!"

No sooner had he spoken the word than he felt Mike's chest crash into his own, and his brother's arms wrap tenaciously around him. Auggie raised his arms and embraced his brother tightly in return. After a moment, Mike released Auggie and grabbed him around the shoulders, "Man, you look good, Aug," he exclaimed.

"Funny, I was just gonna tell you the same thing," Auggie smirked.

Mike was silent for a moment, and Auggie cursed himself for misjudging his audience. He groaned inwardly, waiting for the awkward response he suspected was coming.

Instead, Mike chortled. "You son of a bitch, the Aug-Man, back from the dead and cracking jokes. Unbelievable. I'm freezing my ass off out here. Let's go inside. I gotta catch up to you," he announced boisterously, referencing the half-drunk beer in Auggie's hand.

Auggie listened to the sound of his brother's footfalls, grateful Mike had apparently not changed out of his work shoes, as the clack of the hard soles across stones served as a beacon. Auggie followed the sound and made it back into the kitchen without tripping or running into anything, stifling a sigh of relief. He leaned against the island as he listened to Mike score a beer.

"The game on?" Mike inquired.

"Yep."

"Who's up?"

"Bulls, last I heard."

"Nice!" Mike hooted. There followed a curious pause, and then Mike snorted. "Aug, I'm trying to high-five you here," he explained.

"Oh," Auggie said, embarrassed, holding up his right palm as his brother smacked it forcefully. "Shit," Auggie remarked petulantly, setting down his beer and shaking his now-stinging hand.

"Oh, sack up, soldier boy," Mike retorted. "Living with Mom for two days and it's already making you soft," he tsk-tsked.

"Oh yeah?" Auggie queried mischievously, a grin spreading across his face.

"Yeah," Mike contended, smacking Auggie lightly on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

_Wrong move._

Before Mike could withdraw, Auggie reached up and grasped Mike's wrist, twisting it quickly, and pivoting Mike so that he was facing away from him. He swept Mike's legs out from under him and crashed down on top of him, with his knee in the center of Mike's back and Mike's arm contorted unnaturally behind him.

"Uncle!" Mike cried out, slapping his free hand on the hardwood floor, and laughing uproariously. Auggie leapt off him immediately and offered his hand, which Mike grabbed as he pulled himself back to his feet. Auggie plastered a taut smile on his face.

"Shit, Auggie, I take it back, okay?" Mike chuckled, and Auggie could hear him brushing himself off as he made his way into the living room to watch the game. "Geez," he declared over his shoulder, taking his seat noisily on the leather couch with a groan. "Don't forget I'm six and a half years older than you; I'm an old man. I can't wrangle with you young'uns anymore," he pouted good-naturedly. "Get over here and watch this game with me, bro," he invited. Then he began to yell at the TV screen, instantly, thoroughly engrossed in the basketball game.

Auggie, on the other hand, remained in the kitchen, where he hoped he was out of Mike's line of sight. His hands were shaking uncontrollably and his heartbeat was growing louder in his ears by the moment. He felt bile rise in his throat and knew he was going to throw up. He made his way quickly and clumsily to the guest bath off the kitchen and shut and locked the door behind himself. As he knelt in front of the toilet, he reached down with a violently trembling hand and touched the 5-inch street bowie knife he'd been surreptitiously carrying on his belt under his sweater.

_I almost just killed my brother_, he thought, and then he was sick.


	30. Chapter 30

02.20.08

Auggie spent as long as he felt he could in the guest bathroom without arousing suspicion. Or worse, concern. After he'd done what he could to clean himself up, he exited the washroom and shouted to Mike in the other room that he needed to grab something from his place and would be back in a minute.

He grabbed his cane from where he'd set it on the credenza in the entryway and fiercely shook it into shape. He quickly crossed the short distance to the stairs leading to his apartment and took the steps two at a time. Once inside, he let his cane clatter to the ground. Even as he slammed shut the door to his little apartment, his hands were scrambling at his belt. The moment he had it loose, he quickly slid the knife in its sheath off of it, and threw it across the room. When he heard it smack the adjacent wall, he fell back against the door, sliding to the floor. He dropped his head into his hands as sobs began to shake his body.

_I almost just killed my brother. I almost just killed my brother. I almost just killed my brother._

The repetitive thought grew louder and louder in his brain, until he was squeezing his palms against his temples to try to shut it out. After 2 minutes, it was as if someone began to slowly turn down the dial on the volume. After 10 minutes, it was finally silent, save for the sound of Auggie's panting.

Auggie was completely caught off-guard by what had just transpired. Of course, he hadn't wanted to hurt Mike; for the first second or two of their tussle, it had actually been fun. But then some switch had flipped in Auggie's damaged brain, and a rush of adrenaline had exploded in his chest. He was hit by a palpable, genuine, overwhelming terror, made all the worse by not being able to see his opponent. His amygdala was screaming at him that _this was kill-or-be-killed_. He'd been reaching for the knife with his free hand when Mike's joking cry of "uncle" rang out. At the sound of Mike's laughter, whatever switch had been flipped was unflipped, and he'd found himself kneeling over his own flesh-and-blood, mere seconds from having stabbed him to death on their parents' kitchen floor.

Auggie wasn't totally sure what he was doing carrying the knife anyway. He was in the hoity-toity North Shore suburbs of Chicago where he'd grown up, and where crime was strictly white-collar. But not being able to see had made him feel vulnerable in a way that he'd never experienced, and he'd found his anxiety growing with every day that passed. When he'd found the knife earlier that afternoon in one of the boxes of his stuff, he'd snuck it under his mattress before his mom could notice. And when he'd gotten dressed after his shower, the idea of wearing the knife had come to him out of the blue. Once it was strapped onto his belt, he was pleased to discover that its presence at his side calmed his nerves significantly.

Until he'd almost murdered his brother, that is. Now his anxiety was off the charts.


	31. Chapter 31

02.20.08

When Auggie finally felt in control of himself, a good twenty minutes later, he made his way back to the main house. _Unarmed_. As he opened the front door, he could hear three new voices in the kitchen. Andy and Kim had arrived, and Alan was back from Springfield. Auggie disassembled his cane and once again set it on the credenza by the door. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then strode as confidently as he could toward his waiting family.

He trailed the back of his hand along the wall and came around the corner into the kitchen, then waited to be noticed. After a minute without a greeting, he deduced that everyone must be facing away from him. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and cleared his throat.

"Auggie, hey man," came Andy's deep voice first, and Auggie heard his eldest brother approach him. Andy was no Mike; mellow and soft-spoken, he wasn't the kind to manhandle Auggie at first sight. At least not since they'd been kids, anyway. Auggie sensed Andy stop in front of him. Not knowing what else to do, Auggie removed his hands from his pockets and spread his arms. Andy got the hint and embraced his youngest brother.

At 6'1", Auggie was not a short man. But Andy's 6'5" frame dwarfed his. Easily the most gifted athlete in the active Anderson family, Andy coached Division I men's basketball and women's volleyball at nearby Chicago State University. But he was a gentle giant who cried at chick flicks and sappy Hallmark cards. With his penchant for maudlin displays, he was the member of the family that Auggie was most worried would make a scene at this little reunion.

Andy, however, remained respectably tear-free. "It's so good to have you back, man," he said simply and then released him after one more quick squeeze.

"Good to be back," Auggie answered, and realized he was only half-lying.

"Kim's here," he mentioned, and Auggie nodded. The verbal introduction was a nice touch. However, since Auggie still had no idea where in the room Kim was, he found himself just awkwardly standing there waiting for some indication of where he should direct his greeting to her.

Kim piped up, "Hey, Auggie."

Auggie startled a bit to hear her voice from behind him. "Sorry to sneak up on you," she said, coming around in front of him. "I didn't know you'd come down. I had to dash to the bathroom," she explained apologetically. She hugged him gently, and he felt the soft swell of her pregnant belly press into his abs. It was odd to think of any part of Kim as being soft. Andy had met her when he'd first started coaching volleyball at CSU a decade earlier. She'd been a lean and aggressive outside hitter who'd stood as tall as Auggie himself. Now she was a personal trainer and competitive marathoner. She and Andy had been trying to get pregnant for at least 5 years, and now after 3 failed IVF attempts, Kim was 8 months along with a baby girl. They'd found out just before Auggie had deployed.

"Hey, Kim," Auggie returned. "How's our little übermensch coming along?" he joked, referring to the family assumption that any child of Andy and Kim's would be some kind of super-jock.

"She's good. Kicking up a storm right now, actually," Kim laughed, taking Auggie's hand and placing it lightly on her abdomen. Auggie was touched by the gesture, and he smiled at Kim as he felt the baby squirm under her sweater. "Looks like she missed her Uncle Auggie, too," Kim whispered, and her voice broke on the last word.

"Hey," Auggie reassured, reaching for Kim's hand and giving it a squeeze when he clasped it.

"All right, shall we?" Alan broke in, referring to the dinner now cooling on the table, and Auggie was enormously relieved to have the awkward (re)introduction part of the evening behind him.


	32. Chapter 32

02.20.08

After dinner, Alan lit a fire in the great room fireplace, and he and the Anderson boys sat around it sipping scotch. Jan and Kim, who were as close as any actual mother and daughter, retreated to Jan's office to order a few last-minute baby items now that the birth was right around the corner.

The flow of discussion at the dinner table had been fluid and natural, but Auggie had stayed unusually quiet; he'd still been reeling internally from what had happened with Mike earlier in the evening. Here in the warm, oak-paneled room though, with a couple of fingers of scotch in his belly, Auggie could feel the tension in his spine slackening. Conversation among the men followed a predictable pattern: starting with consternation at the Bears' failure to make the playoffs for the second year in a row; then wandering into disappointment over the Bulls' discouraging loss that night; and finally ending with their high hopes for the Cubs' promising upcoming season.

When they'd discussed and prophesied and argued their way through a sport for every season of the year, the conversation had turned to Chris, the only member of the family missing that night. He was in his final year of an emergency medicine residency at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore and his schedule was, at the moment, totally insane. He'd desperately wanted to be home for Auggie's return, but it was simply impossible. He was planning a short overnight trip home for the upcoming weekend.

As it grew later, the tempo of the dialogue slowed down and eventually stopped. Just as Auggie was feeling genuinely relaxed (_okay, drunk_) for the first time in as long as he could remember, Mike asked the $64,000 question:

"So, Aug, man - what's the plan?"

Auggie, who'd been leaning back in a slouchy armchair, eyes closed and face to the vaulted ceiling, was startled by the non-sequitur. Nevertheless, he maintained his relaxed posture. "You'll have to be more specific."

"I mean, what are you gonna do?"

Auggie felt the air in the room thicken and knew intuitively that Alan and Andy were passing concerned looks back and forth. Mike was always brash and direct in a way that disconcerted the other members of the family; that was no surprise. But in this unprecedented situation, Auggie could feel the waves of their discomfort coming at him almost tangibly. It made him uncomfortable, too, and he started to feel the pressure in his head building slowly again.

"That is not more specific," Auggie countered mildly, taking pains to keep his voice level.

"C'mon, don't bust my balls. You know what I mean," Mike said, his voice taking on a new sincerity.

"I'm taking suggestions, if you've got 'em," Auggie sighed, reluctantly sitting up and placing his elbows on his knees.

He wasn't entirely sure how to navigate these waters: Chris was the only member of the family who knew the full contours of Auggie's employment. The rest believed he'd transferred to the Army's IRR in 2004 to begin a civilian career doing something with computers (it wasn't hard to lie to them about this, since no one in the family but Auggie knew anything about computers). In reality, that's when Auggie had left for his 12-month stint at the Farm. However, at the time, Chris had been in med school at Georgetown, a mere 10 minutes from where Auggie was supposedly living in the Adams Morgan neighborhood of DC. His frustration with Auggie's continual brush-offs had morphed into suspicion, until he'd finally begun staking out Auggie's empty apartment. After a full week of seeing no one enter or leave the place, he'd called Auggie and confronted him. Auggie had no choice but to read him in, after which Chris wouldn't talk to him for a solid six months. It was only after a half a year of cooling-down, and a well-timed peace offering of an Xbox, that Chris had resumed speaking with his brother. He and Chris were fine now, but the whole situation was so painful that Auggie had vowed never to read in the rest of his family. Better that they believed a lie than believed he was a liar.

But it made conversations like these a hell of a lot harder. And that's where humor came in. A joke had always been his favorite way to deflect from real issues, whether they were about relationships or state secrets.

"Well, I've been thinking about getting into into astronomy. Maybe get myself a telescope. Or painting. I always wanted to learn to work in oils. Or, go a totally different route, maybe professional racecar driver..." Auggie trailed off, his joke met with total silence. "C'mon, that's funny, you guys," he pleaded. "You know, because of - " he waved his hand in front of his eyes.

_Nada. Tough crowd._

The dilemma Auggie was facing was this: He didn't work in "computers." He worked for the CIA. _Had worked for the CIA_. Hoped to work there again. But he had no assurance that he'd be able to return. His cover, his supposed computer job, wasn't real. It was actually a cover within a cover - the only thing he'd done with computers in DC was join up with a gorgeous Russian elite hacker and infiltrate a circle of black-hat types running an international cyber-crime ring. And he couldn't exactly tell his family that either. The only other job they knew about was the Army, but he clearly wouldn't be returning to the Berets. So, he had no job waiting for him in DC...officially.

Auggie sighed again. "Look, Mike. Honestly, I have no idea."

It occurred to Auggie as he spoke that he _was_ actually telling the truth.


	33. Chapter 33

02.23.08

Auggie quickly logged out of the program he was in and yanked his headphones off his ears. The knock at his door came again, and he smiled. "It's unlocked," he called out as he rose from his seat at his desk.

"Hey Auggie, it's me," said Chris as he entered the small apartment.

Auggie snorted. "Well, I wasn't expecting anybody else at 10 o'clock."

The brothers embraced, and Auggie guessed from the antiseptic smell that Chris was still in his scrubs. He'd apparently gone straight from work to the airport.

"How are you, man?" asked Chris, and Auggie decided to ignore the optional deeper meaning of the question. "I'm good. Just finishing up some stuff on my computer," he explained as he returned to his desk to close the laptop's lid and make sure the power cord was plugged in.

"You can use your computer?" Chris inquired, clearly surprised.

"Even with my eyes closed, I'm better than you on it," Auggie retorted smartly. He and Chris, only 19 months apart, had always been the closest among the brothers. They'd been allies against the bigger, stronger, smarter team of Andy, Mike, and Tim. They were also both East Coast-based as adults, though that hadn't really meant much in Auggie's case. Still, when he hadn't been in Eastern Europe, Italy, Turkey, Iraq...he'd been within shouting distance of his next-oldest brother, and that had preserved a good measure of their childhood closeness. Of course, the fact that he wasn't keeping his job a secret from Chris, and Chris alone, helped.

"How was your flight?" Auggie asked.

"Fine."

"How's residency?"

"Good."

"You make a New Years' resolution to give only one-word answers to questions or something?" Auggie gibed. Chris was clearly distracted by something.

"Hm. Hey, Aug?"

"Yeah?"

"What's with the knife?"

Auggie cheeks flushed hotly. _Dammit_. He couldn't see the knife, so he'd forgotten that it was there. _Still there_. Where he'd thrown it in a panic three nights ago. He heard Chris walk toward the the right side of his bed, and Auggie knew it must just be lying on the floor there, in plain sight.

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't know what you were talking about?" Auggie tried weakly, turning slowly to face Chris.

"Not really," Chris responded. "Not with this hole in the wall right above where it's sitting on the floor."

_Shit. _He'd thrown it so hard, it'd made a dent in the wall? That was unintentional. _Like other things that had happened that night,_ Auggie thought grimly, the terrifying memory threatening to replay itself in his head.

"So?" Chris prompted.

"So?"

"So, what's with the knife, Auggie?"

"Just drop it, Chris," Auggie warned.

The fierceness in Auggie's voice was enough. Chris walked back across the room. "Here," he said, and Auggie held out his hand. He stifled the shiver that began to run up his spine as the hard plastic sheath hit his open palm, and he placed the knife in the top drawer of his dresser.

"What're you gonna do about the wall?" Chris persisted.

"I'll figure it out," Auggie growled. This wasn't the way he'd seen this meeting going. Of all his family members, Chris had been the one he'd been most excited to reunite with. He'd been in a good mood when Chris had knocked; he was dinking around with some code and he'd just started feeling comfortable on his computer again. It had taken all of 30 seconds for things to go south.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Auggie apologized. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm really glad to see you...in a manner of speaking."

"It's good to see you, too, Aug."

By mutual implicit agreement, the brothers decided to skirt the issue. Chris sat in the armchair in the corner, Auggie pulled up his desk chair, and the two men caught up. Apparently Chris had met a girl, a fellow resident, and he liked her a lot. But their schedules were so intense that they often had to plan 2 weeks in advance for their dates. As Auggie listened to him describe her and their relationship, he felt a pang of sorrow and regret. He'd been _married_ to Helen, for crying out loud. And he'd watched her murdered in front of him. He'd been with Natasha for a year, and then been forced _by his boss_ to (literally) watch helplessly as the FBI took her down. She'd be starting her prison sentence at Danbury about now, he figured. They were the two great loves of his life and he couldn't tell Chris, or anyone outside of Langley, about either of them. Meanwhile, the extent of the complexity of Chris' relationship was juggling calendars.

And yet, whom did he have to blame but himself? He'd chosen this life. Maybe he'd been naive. But it occurred to him then, really for the first time, that he'd probably never have a real relationship again. Before Helen, he'd assumed he'd eventually end up with a fellow spy. Somebody as smart, determined, and driven as he was. Somebody who understood the complexities of his life. Somebody who pushed him out of his comfort zone. Somebody badass. Now, after Helen, he could see how stupid that was. Falling in love with someone who did the same dangerous work he did had been a terrible idea. Yet, being with someone outside the Agency, even now, would mean a scenario where total honesty wasn't possible. Where candid heart-to-hearts weren't achievable. Though, at the moment, with the turmoil going on inside of him, he wasn't even sure he wanted that anymore.

"...see where it goes from here, you know?"

Auggie snapped his attention back to Chris just as he was winding down. He hoped that Chris hadn't caught his lapse. "She sounds great," Auggie offered, trying something vague that might make sense in context.

"Yeah, she's pretty great," Chris affirmed. _Whew_. Then he was silent for a moment. "I wanna talk to you about your eyes, Aug."

Auggie raised his eyebrows to indicate his surprise at the sharp turn the conversation was taking. "Nothing wrong with my eyes, Chris," he corrected as leaned back in his swivel chair and laced his fingers behind his head.

"Yeah, Aug, I know it's cortical. You knew what I meant, though. Can I ask, do you have _any_ residual vision?"

"Does my insurance cover this consult, doctor?" he retorted.

"Auggie, dammit, just be serious for a second, would you?" Chris spoke heatedly. Chris had always been the more earnest of the two, and it wasn't exactly a new thing for him to be frustrated with Auggie's diversionary humor.

"No."

"No, you won't be serious or no, you don't have any residual vision?" Chris clarified testily.

"No, I don't see anything," he answered quietly. "Pitch black."

"Hm," grunted Chris thoughtfully. "That's pretty rare."

"I know that."

Chris took a deep breath. "Auggie, I know someone. Someone who might be able to help. At Hopkins. A neuro-ophthalmologist named Dave Kessel. He's brilliant, he's passionate...and he's interested in your case," Chris finished expectantly.

Auggie's heart clenched in his chest. He'd seen about 20 neuro-opthalmologists between Landstuhl and Walter Reed. He'd been scanned and re-scanned and then scanned some more. Every time, the news that came back was bad. _Catastrophic damage_ was the term they'd used over and over. The delicate blood vessels that had supplied blood to Auggie's optic nerve had been violently disconnected when his brain had been shaken inside his skull like Jell-O in a fishbowl during the explosion. He was afraid to hope. But he couldn't stop himself.

"What's his number?"


	34. Chapter 34

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Date:** February 20, 2008 3:19:35 PM CST  
**To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Subject:** **Hey**

Just checking in. How you holding up, soldier?

Mel

* * *

**From:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Date:** February 23, 2008 8:08:57 AM CST  
**To:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Subject: Re: Hey  
**  
Hey yourself,

I'm surviving. You move a new young hot blind guy into my old digs yet?

- A

* * *

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Date:** February 23, 2008 2:29:14 PM CST  
**To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Subject:** **Re: Hey  
**  
Ha - no one could ever take the place of your ornery ass. Guess you got your computer up and running. And it only took you 3 days. Some techy genius you are...

Mel

* * *

**From:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Date:** February 23, 2008 9:37:02 PM CST  
**To:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Subject:** **Re: Hey**  
**  
**Ouch. Try to remember I'm doing this BLIND.

But I gotta say, it's pretty hilarious hearing my computer say "ornery ass."

- A

* * *

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Date:** February 24, 2008 2:17:34 PM CST  
**To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Subject:** **Re: Hey**

Hey, that could be a neat game - try to make your laptop blush.  
I learned some fun words in the Army I could try...

Mel

* * *

**From: **"Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Date:** February 25, 2008 9:37:02 AM CST  
**To:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Subject: Re: Hey**

I'm scared.

- A

* * *

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Date:** February 25, 2008 1:56:23 PM CST  
**To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Subject:** **Bombs Away**

1) $#^  
2) *& #$^%  
3) ^#% #

You're welcome.

Mel

* * *

**From:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Date:** February 25, 2008 7:30:45 PM CST  
**To:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Subject: Re: Bombs Away**

I'm dying over here.

You kiss your mother with that mouth?

- A

* * *

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Date:** February 25, 2008 7:40:49 PM CST  
**To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Subject: By the way...**

...thank you for my gifts.  
I can't believe you did that.

Mel

* * *

**From:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Date:** February 26, 2008 9:21:18 AM CST  
**To:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Subject: Re: By the way...**

You know my phone works, right?

- A


	35. Chapter 35

_A/N: I try not to do too many author's notes, as I worry my real "voice" may interfere with the story. But I just couldn't wait any longer to say another really big thank you to all of you who've reviewed and PM'd me with such kind words. If you're an author, you already know how much it means to get that feedback. And, if you're on here just to read, well-now you know, too. Glad to have you all along for the ride._

_:)  
Cherith_

* * *

03.19.08

Auggie cursed and slammed down the lid of his laptop. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there at his desk, attempting to practice his Braille on the refreshable display he had hooked up to his computer. The voice-over software built into his Mac - simple to set up and use after a brief window of acclimation - had been crucial for getting him back online. But after only a week or so, it had become obvious to Auggie that, for what he was going to be attempting, he'd need more firepower. He needed to be able to both hear and "see" what was going on on his screen, and the only way he could do that was with Braille.

So, he'd bitten the bullet and bought the $3,000 piece of equipment. He was trying to remember that price tag as he fought the urge to disconnect it and bash it repeatedly against his desk. After all, it wasn't the device's fault. Braille was just a beast. As the tiny pins that simulated braille dots ascended and descended underneath his fingertips, Auggie found he couldn't decipher a single character. Auggie wasn't even very good at analogue Braille yet; he was completely out of his depth with this high-tech version. He felt his plan to get back to work slipping away from him, and it both infuriated and terrified him at the same time.

Auggie stood up and paced the length of his apartment a few times. Then, he realized he was hungry. _What time was it, anyway?_ He reached down to his wrist, to the Braille wristwatch he'd begun wearing the week before. The talking alarm clock - again, while easy to set up and begin using - had its limitations. Namely, it wasn't portable, and it was subject to power outages. He flipped the glass face up and discovered it was after 2 o'clock.

Auggie grabbed his cane and headed over to the main house to grab some lunch. "Ma?" he called out, as he entered. _Nothing_. Leaving his cane in the entry, he walked to the fridge and felt for the magnetic voice recorder that served as a notepad these days for messages between his parents and himself. When he found it, he pressed play, and his mother's voice came tinnily out of the small speaker:

_"Hey Aug, it's um...about 11:30, and I'm heading out to meet Jeannie for lunch. We may do a walk after, so I could be home as early as 2 or as late as 4 or so. Call me if you need anything. Love you!"_

Okay, he was on his own. Cooking hadn't been one of his areas of expertise when he could see, and it was even more intimidating to him now. Yet, he needed to be able to feed himself, if only for his own dignity. Luckily, Jan had sensed this, and had ever-so-casually made sure Auggie knew that she'd keep one of the crisper drawers in the fridge exclusively for sandwich fixings. Sandwiches - those he could do. He made himself a turkey-and-havarti, found an apple in the fruit bowl on the counter, and grabbed some chips from the pantry. Then he filled up a glass of water, sat down at the table in the silent house, and was immediately overwhelmed by a profound loneliness.

He'd been trained as an elite soldier and as a spy. Sometimes both of those vocations had required him to be on his own for considerable lengths of time. And not just physically. On a psychological level, outside of Langley, he'd been isolated, too. He often couldn't share even the most basic facets of his life with the people to whom he was closest. But back then, the action and adventure and excitement and sense of purpose had countered that. Those had been the weighty pros that had outweighed the not-insignificant cons.

Now, Auggie felt more isolated than he'd ever been, with none of the perks that had previously made it all seem worth it. He felt cut-off from the people he'd worked with at the Agency. They might as well be on the moon, as far as he was concerned. He felt cut-off from friends from Illinois, too. A few old buddies had heard he was back in town and had tried to contact him. But Auggie couldn't honestly think up one topic he'd be able to talk to any of them about. He even felt cut-off from his brothers: Chris was crazy busy and out of town. Andy and Mike were close, but they each had full lives of their own. Andy's daughter was due any day, and his basketball team was in the final, tense weeks of their season. And Mike was a financial analyst who worked long hours in the city, often up to 16 hours a day. His main conversation partner these days was his mother. But she'd basically lived alone for a decade, with Alan still gone so much of the work week, and she'd built up a very active social life to compensate. It wasn't unusual for a day to go by where Auggie didn't see or talk to her. Where Auggie didn't see or talk to anyone.

He finished his sandwich, washed his dish, then flipped open his cell phone. He dialed the now-familiar Michigan number.

Voicemail.

_Damn._


	36. Chapter 36

03.19.08

Jan made it home just after 4 o'clock. As she pulled into the garage, she wondered briefly if she should go up and check on Auggie. His lights weren't on, but they never were anymore. He wouldn't be sleeping at this time of the afternoon and she was almost positive he hadn't gone anywhere. Still, she quickly decided against it. She'd been warring with all her worst (s)mothering instincts in the month since Auggie had been home. She kept telling herself that he was a grown man and that he needed to have some autonomy, some privacy. Still, her heart ached to see how isolated her youngest son had been in the past month. She'd hoped Andy and Mike would be around more now that Auggie was home, but she knew they also led busy lives, and it didn't feel right for her to try to triangulate their fraternal relationships.

Grabbing the mail sticking out of the slot as she entered the front door, Jan flicked on lights as she made her way to her little kitchen desk. She absent-mindedly tossed the obvious junk mail as she sorted through the stack, then came upon two items addressed to Auggie. One was auto-forwarded from Auggie's address in DC, and had an official-looking insignia Jan didn't recognize printed on it. However, the more interesting one was the other: hand-written, it was obviously a personal letter. Jan's breathing quickened. She hadn't immediately recognized the Virginia return address, but the name was instantly familiar: "Rowland."

She'd seen that name for the first time in early January, on a cream & gold embossed envelope, also addressed to Auggie. Since Auggie had still been in Germany at the time, and so little was known about his situation, Jan had felt justified in opening it. It had been an invitation to a memorial service for First Lieutenant William Patrick Rowland, with a mention that he'd been killed in action while serving in Iraq. Jan had instinctively known that he'd been with Auggie on that terrible day. She'd put the card away, telling herself she'd show it to Auggie...one day.

But months had now passed, during which she'd never so much as mentioned it to him. Her maternal instinct told her it would just tear open wounds that seemed to be slowly healing. She was so desperate for Auggie to really return to himself, to be the happy-go-lucky baby of the Anderson family that he'd always been. He wasn't back to that yet, but she had hope that he was on the right track. And now this was landing in her lap. As she stood there staring at the two pieces of Auggie's mail, trying to decide what to do, she heard the front door open.

"Hey, you back?" Auggie called out. Of course he would have heard her car pull in.

Jan cleared her throat and illogically made a move to hide the two letters she was holding. "Yeah, Aug, I'm in here," she responded.

Auggie entered the kitchen and made his way to the island, which he casually leaned back against. "How was your walk?" he asked. He looked pale and his eyes had dark circles under them.

"Lovely," Jan replied. "Have you been out at all today?"

Auggie looked embarrassed and Jan immediately regretted asking. Auggie's ability to "get out" was pretty limited these days. Still, several of Auggie's old friends lived in the area and had persistently tried to get together with him. She'd feel so relieved if he actually took any of them up on it some day.

"Uh, no."

"Oh."

"So..." he began.

"Wait," Jan interrupted. She was still holding the letters, and she'd suddenly made the decision that it was now or never. She just needed to rip off this band-aid. She turned and dug through the inbox on her desk, and found the buried card. She walked to Auggie with the three documents, grabbed his hand, and placed them in it.

Auggie's forehead creased in confusion. "What's this?" he asked, fingering the envelopes and card.

Jan took a deep breath. "Some mail. Your mail."

"Who's it from?" Auggie wondered, placing the two envelopes on the counter and running his fingertips over the embossed invitation. "This a wedding invitation?" he puzzled.

"No..." Jan said slowly. "It's an invitation...but not for a wedding." This was so painful. And she felt like she was making it worse. _Just get it out already!_ "It's an invitation to a memorial. For someone named William Rowland?" she ended in a question.

Auggie immediately closed his eyes and bowed his head. He suddenly seemed to need the support of the island behind him to hold him up. He stood that way for a minute, and Jan had to clasp her hands behind her back to avoid flinging her arms around him.

Auggie finally looked up. "This just came today?" he queried, perplexed.

It was Jan's turn to close her eyes. "No," she disclosed with a grimace. "It actually arrived a couple months ago, when you were still in Germany. The memorial was early January."

Auggie sat down on the stool beside him and rubbed his face with his hands. "So why are you just giving this to me now?" he asked. He didn't sound angry, which was a relief. Just tired.

"Because I'd forgotten...but something else from the same address came for you today." _There_. It was all out now.

Auggie's head snapped up. "What is it?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. She really had no idea. "It looks like a handwritten letter," she explained, picking it up off the counter. "Do you want me to read it to you?"

"You mind?" Auggie asked quietly, placing his head back in his hands.

"Of course not," Jan reassured. She slit open the envelope, which the address label said had come from Pat & Nancy Rowland of Richmond, Virginia. She unfolded a single sheet of pale blue stationery and began to read the short letter aloud:

_March 13th, 2008_

_Dear Captain Anderson,_

_My name is Nancy Rowland. We never met, but I am Billy Rowland's mother. Billy spoke fondly of you, his commanding officer and closest friend in the unit, in phone calls and letters we received from him. I hope you won't find this letter too forward, but we were able to obtain your parents' address a few months ago through some back-channels, and I've wanted for several months now to write to you personally. I trust your parents will be able to forward this on to you._

_We don't know much about what happened on December 13th of last year in Tikrit, but we do know that's the day we lost our Billy. Our family - Billy's dad, Billy's little sister, and I - have agonized over what may or may not have taken place in Billy's final moments on this earth. The Army has been less than forthcoming about the details, which we assume is directly related to the fact that Billy was Special Forces at the time of his death. I don't know if there's any way that you could help us, anything that you could tell us about that mission or that day or what happened to our son. Anything would be a comfort; it's true what they say, that not knowing is the hardest part._

_I'm aware that this may dredge up memories for you that you might rather forget. I'm so sorry for that. And certainly our intention is not to ask you to share anything that you're not legally at liberty to reveal. I'm not even certain if you're still serving in Iraq, and if so, when you might get this letter_. _We felt it was important to send you the invitation to Billy's memorial in January, though since we never heard back, perhaps you didn't receive it?_

_As I'm sure you know, Billy was an incredible person: loyal, kind, and brave. We know you must be the same way, since he loved and respected you the way he did. Thank you for being a friend to Billy. I'm glad to know he had one like you._

_Sincerely,_

_Nancy Rowland_

By the time Jan got to the closing, the tears were freely running down her face. They'd started at the second sentence, where Jan saw that Nancy had scribbled out "was" and replaced it with "is."_ I was Billy Rowland's mother_ became _I am Billy Rowland's mother_. Jan had personally experienced the same excruciating dilemma thousands of times in the nearly 13 years since Tim's death. "How many children do you have?" was the commonest of questions for a woman her age. And yet it was still, after all these years, like a knife in her heart every time someone asked it. _Did_ she still have five sons? _Was_ she still Tim's mother? She felt like she did; she felt like she was. But explaining to strangers that one of her children was no longer alive was so agonizing that she sometimes just said she had four sons. And when she did, she felt a deep shame at betraying Tim, writing him out of the history of her life to avoid the pain. There was truly no good answer to the question; it was a lose-lose. And now she was witnessing the same pain in this woman, while her son, _her son who had survived_, stood right in front of her.

Jan looked up and saw that, while Auggie was not crying, his eyes had become red-rimmed. He wiped at his nose and cleared his throat. Then he stood and headed for the front door.

"Aug..." Jan spoke to his retreating form, her heart breaking for him.

"Gotta go," he said thickly, snatching his cane and exiting quickly.

Jan knew better than to chase him. So she stood alone in the kitchen. After a moment, she glanced down at the counter and saw the forgotten second letter. She assumed Auggie wouldn't mind her opening it; it couldn't be worse than the first letter.

_Shit_, she thought as she pulled the single sheet out of the envelope, which she now saw had come from the Washington DC DMV.

She had been right, it wasn't worse. But it was still really bad:

A driver's license renewal form.


	37. Chapter 37

03.19.08

Auggie had left the main house so that he wouldn't have to cry in front of his mother. But now that he was sitting here, in his apartment all alone, he had no tears. He wasn't sad. He was angry, and ashamed, and repulsed at himself.

He had consciously avoided thinking about the explosion, and the death of his friends, for months. At first, there had been so many other things to put his mind on. Physically recuperating, and then learning the basics of functioning without his sight, had been effective distractions for the most part. And most recently, he'd been laser focusing on getting his computer skills up to snuff so that he could get back to work. But in the quiet moments between interacting with people and attempting to master various tasks, the noise in his head had been getting louder.

For weeks, he'd been sleeping only a couple of hours a night, awoken by nightmares that had him thrashing in his bedsheets. He knew if someone were to walk in on him in the midst of one of these nightmares, they'd assume he was dreaming about the explosion. He never was. All, but _all_, of his nightmares involved just two participants: Auggie...and Nasir.

Usually Auggie was blind in the dream. Occasionally he had a birds-eye perspective on the scene, where he could see the whole thing take place from outside of his body. But no matter how much he could or couldn't see, he could never overtake and destroy the man who'd destroyed him.

In a common iteration, Auggie catches him from behind, and just as his forearm begins applying the crushing force needed to permanently cut off Nasir's air supply, Auggie's arms collapse onto his own chest, and Nasir is gone. In the worst versions, Nasir suddenly appears behind Auggie, using _his_ forearm to strangle Auggie.

Another equally upsetting variant has Auggie, blind, pinning Nasir to the ground underneath him. He pulls the street bowie off his belt, hearing the metallic _shink_ as the blade leaves the sheath. He raises the knife high and brings it down in a vicious arc...only to run the blade into the ground beneath him. He feels around frantically to locate Nasir, and then feels the thump in _his_ back, the fiery pain, the liquid warmth of his own blood pouring out of what he knows is a fatal wound.

Nasir al-Shirazi. The man was a phantasm, a ghost. He wasn't even a person anymore. He was the psychological manifestation of Auggie's fear, and grief, and loss.

And Auggie was a latter-day Sisyphus, forced each night to roll the massive boulder of his guilt and anxiety and fear up the hill of his subconscious. Every night, he ended up at the bottom of that hill, crushed by the weight of everything he was holding onto, holding off, holding in.

He missed his guys. He missed his work. He missed being useful, strong, competent. He missed a version of himself that wasn't so haunted. So tortured.

But even sitting here thinking these thoughts made him disgusted with himself. No matter how FUBAR his life was at the moment, it was a _life_. He was _alive_. It was Auggie who'd been the lone survivor.  
_  
And he knew why. _

Everything up to the moment Billy was killed - that wasn't his fault. Billy's blood wasn't on his hands. _Thank God_. But it wasn't much of a relief. Because Auggie knew that he'd had a choice the moment Billy was shot. He could've (_should've-should've-should've_) aborted the mission that second and driven like hell to get out of that awful place. But he hadn't. He'd decided to stay and complete the mission. Had that been the brave decision the Army had been hoping he'd make? Or just some cowboy bullshit?_  
_  
Then, he'd allowed his men to get out of the vehicle, another crucial decision. _Another terrible mistake.  
_  
Chris had been taken down almost immediately, wounded too badly to stand, let alone help his fellow soldiers. And Auggie had left Nasir with him. _He'd left him with the traitor_. Left Nasir exactly where Nasir had hoped he would, using the American Humvee as cover while Auggie's men got shot to heck by Nasir's co-conspirators. Where Nasir could sit and wait for the perfect moment to toss his bomb-loaded bag underneath the vehicle and _run_.

Jason, who'd wanted to take point, wanted to take out the Jack of Diamonds? Auggie had commanded him to lay down cover so that Auggie himself could enter the safehouse. He'd been the ranking officer; that was the right call. But he hadn't had to make it; he'd had latitude, especially in a cluster like that. If _he'd_ covered, sent Jason up like he wanted, it'd be him in a dank hole in the ground and Jason safe at home with his family in Florida. Maybe Jason would be blind, maybe he wouldn't be. But he'd be alive.

What would Billy give, what would Chris give, what would Jason give-to be in Auggie's shoes right now? What would Billy's mom give to put Auggie in a casket and take her son home instead?

It wasn't fair. Not even close.

_I'm a lucky guy_, thought Auggie bitterly.

* * *

_A/N: Special thanks to __**b11rthdaycake**__, one of my most encouraging and faithful reviewers, who tapped into her amazing network of blind friends to answer some of my questions. I've used one of her friends' (fascinating) experiences here in my description of Auggie dreaming._


	38. Chapter 38

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Date:** April 3, 2008 4:20:36 PM CST  
**To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Subject:** **Where you been?**

Haven't heard from you in a couple weeks, soldier. You good?

Mel

* * *

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]**  
Date:** April 20, 2008 3:30:15 PM CST**  
To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]**  
Subject:** **Hello?**

Okay, not to go all crazy-stalker on you, but...I have now officially not heard from you in over a month.

What gives?

Mel

* * *

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]**  
Date:** April 28, 2008 6:56:14 AM CST**  
To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]**  
Subject:** **(no subject)**

Auggie,

You're not answering my emails. You won't pick up when I call.

You're scaring me.

Say something.

Please.

Mel

* * *

**From: **"Anderson, August" [aanderson80]**  
Date:** April 29, 2008 2:37:02 AM CST**  
To:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]**  
Subject: Re: (no subject)**

SNAFU.

- A

* * *

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Date:** April 29, 2008 6:19:23 AM CST  
**To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Subject:** **Situation Normal All F***ed Up?**

What kind of a response is that? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Why are you up at 2:30AM? What's going on with you?

Write or call me BACK, dammit.

Mel

* * *

**From:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Date:** April 29, 2008 7:30:45 PM CST  
**To:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Subject: AUGGIE?**

I'm so pissed you're making me do this, but I'm calling your parents' house.

Mel


	39. Chapter 39

04.29.08

Mel's heart pounded as she dialed the 847 number. She'd never done anything like this for a former trainee. But this was _Auggie_, and he was so much more than that to her.

"Pick up, dammit," she muttered into the phone as she paced in the living room of her apartment.

"Hello?" Jan's voice came on the line.

"Hi," Mel greeted breathlessly. "This is Mel, Mel Lopez. I was Auggie's instructor at the VISOR center in Battle Creek?" her voice rose into a question on the last word. She'd spent a couple of hours with Auggie and his parents, but that didn't necessarily mean Jan would remember her. After all, that had been over 2 months ago. But she _really hoped_ Jan remembered her.

"Yes. Mel. Of course, I remember you. How are you?" Jan's voice was warm. _Whew. _"Were you looking for Auggie or...?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorta. I, uh..." Mel suddenly realized how ridiculous this phone call was. For all she knew, Auggie was out having the time of his life with some long-lost high school sweetheart. Or throwing back a beer at a local sports bar with ex-Army buddies. Hell, he might be standing beside his mom right this moment, making that finger-across-the-throat move that meant _I don't want to talk to her. _She hadn't even considered that maybe Auggie just didn't want to talk to her anymore. Maybe he'd moved on and she was a relic from a harder time that he just didn't want around anymore. _Ouch_. But she wouldn't really blame him for it. But, in case he wasn't...

Mel's voice got small. "Is Auggie okay?"

Mel heard Jan take a sharp breath. "What do you mean? Have you been in touch with him?" she asked.

"Well, we _were_ keeping in touch," she explained. "Until about a month ago. Then he just stopped answering my emails and phone calls. And then I got a weird email from him last night - well, technically early this morning - and...it freaked me out. So now I'm making this totally awkward call, and I am just really, really sorry if it's inappropriate or an invasion. I'm just...worried. I, uh..." she debated continuing her sentence, then decided to just plow through. "I'm a vet myself. I was injured in Iraq in 2004. And I've just seen too many friends do stupid stuff after getting back. So, I was just...worried, is all," she concluded. _Holy shit, I sound like an idiot. This woman must think I am absolutely nucking futs._

Her monologue was met with silence. _Awkward_.

Well, now wait. No, not silence. Mel could hear breathing and rustling. A door open and close, the sound of quick footfalls crunching on gravel. Steps and now insistent knocking.

"Auggie!" Jan cried out, and Mel heard alarm in her voice. Her heart dropped and her mouth went bone dry. _Ohshitohshitohshit_.

She heard another door open and then - finally - Auggie's voice. _Thank God. _

"What are you doing?" He sounded angry. "I was sleeping." Yeah, definitely angry. But also...drunk?

"Auggie, I'm sorry to bust in on you," Mel heard Jan say to Auggie. But Jan didn't really sound sorry; she sounded relieved. Mel was starting to feel like a major creeper, listening in on this moment between them. But she didn't feel like she could just hang up. Mel concentrated on her relief that, at the very least, Auggie was alive and not alone at this exact moment.

Jan continued speaking to her son. "I got a little worried that I hadn't heard a peep from you all day, and then Mel says you sent her a weird email last night - " she corrected herself - "or this morning, early I guess."

"_Mel?_" Auggie asked, now not so much angry as confused. "What are you _talking_ about?"

"Oh," Jan uttered, and it was clear to Mel that, in Jan's panic, she had forgotten that she was still holding the phone with Mel on the other end. "Mel's on the phone for you."

She heard Auggie groan and a shuffle as the phone was apparently handed off. "Some privacy?" he directed at his mother, and Mel heard the door close once more.

"Mel?" Auggie's deep voice came on the line.

"Hi," Mel answered timidly. _What have I done?_

"What just happened? Did you call my mom?" he sighed. Oh yes, he was _for sure_ drunk. Mel would know that slur anywhere.

"Did you not get my email?" Mel demanded.

"Yeah, I wrote you back," he claimed.

"You wrote me back ONE word," Mel amended. "At 2 o'clock in the morning. After ignoring me for a month. But no, I'm talking about the one I sent early this morning and another just a few minutes before I called. What's going on with you, Auggie?"  
_  
Silence._

"Auggie?" Mel softened her tone. "What's going on with you?"

"I've been having some trouble sleeping," he admitted finally, and Mel imagined him sprawled on his bed, surrounded by empty bottles.

"You been drinking?"

"A little," he replied. "Y'know, helps with the not-sleeping."

Mel wanted to tell him that, no, it actually made it worse. You didn't get restful sleep from drinking until you passed out. She should know. But instead she asked, "How can I help you, soldier?"

Auggie sighed heavily, and Mel did actually hear glass clink in the background. Just how accurate _was_ her mental image?

"I could use a friend."

"I'm a friend."

"You wanna take a little trip with me to Baltimore?"


	40. Chapter 40

05.06.08

Mel rose from her seat at the gate as she watched Auggie's plane taxi toward the jetway. When he'd asked her a week ago if she'd take a trip to Baltimore with him, she'd agreed immediately. And though she'd been a little surprised when he'd called the next morning to give her an itinerary that had them flying out in a week, it was a convenient time for Mel: It was an off-week at the center, and her winter semester classes at UM had ended the Friday before. Not that she wouldn't have blown off work _and_ school if she'd needed to in order to make sure Auggie was okay. She hadn't been lying to Jan; she'd lost too many friends to wounds that only became apparent _after_ they'd come home from the war. She wasn't going to let that happen to Auggie, not if she could help it.

Still, she had misgivings about this little field trip. Auggie was going to see an eye specialist at Johns Hopkins, someone his doctor brother had referred him to. Mel, as all pessimists do, considered herself a realist. Best to start with the lowest expectations possible, she figured, and then allow life to pleasantly surprise you from there. From the tone of their conversations over the past week, Mel had grown increasingly apprehensive that Auggie was _not_ doing that. Hey, Mel loved a feel-good story as much as the next girl, but miracles were story-worthy precisely _because_ they were rare. Mel wasn't a doctor, but with the personal and professional experience she had, she felt like a pretty respectable lay expert on visual impairment. As much as she wanted Auggie to get his sight back, she didn't really see that happening. She just hoped _he_ knew that.

As passengers from Auggie's flight began streaming into the terminal, she scanned the line for him. Finally, when those disembarking had slowed to a trickle, she spotted him. On the arm of a flight attendant, he came out of the doors and into the passenger waiting area. Mel frowned as she took him in: He was still an incredibly handsome man (_that blushing flight attendant guiding him certainly thinks so_, Mel thought with a snort). But, to Mel, he also looked like a haunted one. He had dark circles under his eyes and there were hollows beneath his cheekbones that hadn't been there when he'd left Battle Creek. He looked like he'd lost a little weight, too. But it wasn't just his physical appearance; it was like there was an intangible aura of sadness around him. Well, maybe Mel was the only one who could see that. But it was there.

"Soldier!" she called out as she walked up to him. She laughed to herself to see the flirty flight attendant's dejected reaction to a new woman entering the picture. Then the woman's gaze was drawn down to Mel's legs, and her eyes went wide. Mel smirked. She and Auggie really were quite the matched set.

"Hey," Auggie smiled in recognition of her voice, releasing his disappointed companion and drawing Mel into a hug. "Mm," he murmured into the crown of her head. "Jo Malone Grapefruit."

"Yeah, I don't usually lay it on this thick, but I got that squeak fixed and figured it was only fair to give the blind guy a head's up," she teased. She was relieved to inhale only his cologne, and not the telltale scent of alcohol. "Shall we?" she asked as she bumped his hand.

Auggie took her lead and they strolled down the length of the terminal, headed for their next flight. Auggie had flown on his own from O'Hare to Detroit to meet up with Mel. From here, he and Mel would continue on to Ronald Reagan in DC. Mel had been confused as to why they were flying into DC instead of BWI just outside of Baltimore. But she knew DC had been Auggie's home base before Iraq and thought maybe he'd wanted to visit an old friend or something.

They walked in comfortable silence until they reached their gate and sat down.

"They treat you okay on your flight?" Mel inquired. She knew from firsthand experience that flying blind (or with any disability, really) could be a frustrating experience. Most airline employees meant well, but every blind person she knew had had at least one bad experience with airplane travel.

Auggie shrugged. "The flight attendant was a little handsy," he said with a brief smile, and Mel rolled her eyes. It was nice to see Auggie smile, however fleetingly. Not to mention make a joke.

"Yeah, well, she didn't look too happy to see me, that's for sure," she chuckled.

Auggie didn't answer, just slouched in his seat, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. Mel could almost see the wave of exhaustion roll over him. They had two hours till the flight to DC.

"Rest," she said quietly, placing her hand on his arm.


	41. Chapter 41

05.06.08

Auggie had been up since 6 that morning and was bone-tired by the time he and Mel checked into their DC hotel just after 9 o'clock. He'd booked a suite for them, one that had separate bedrooms and bathrooms, but a shared living room.

"Sheesh," Mel whistled as she stepped into the spacious quarters. "I take it you got your check?"

Auggie snorted and rolled his eyes. The check Mel was referring to was the blood money the Army had paid him for becoming disabled in combat, as part of a rider on a service-administered insurance policy he'd had. The amount of the check varied depending on the "percentage" disabled they considered a person to be. In Auggie's case, it was an insulting 100%. It seemed neither of Auggie's former employers had any hope he'd ever be gainfully employed again. He hoped to prove them wrong. Until then, he'd enjoy what benefits could be bought with a couple hundred thousand dollars of the government's money, as well as the monthly pension he'd begun to receive.

"What can I say? There are perks to being considered a total invalid by Uncle Sam," Auggie stated, with only a slight acid edge.

"Yeah, you blindies catch all the breaks," Mel tossed back sarcastically. "If only I'd lost my eyes instead of my legs."

"Well, then I'd really be in a bind; who'd drive me to Baltimore?"

"Oh, we wouldn't drive. We'd take my private jet."

Auggie laughed and shook his head. It was really good to be back in the same room with Mel.

"Back in a jiffy," she announced. "I'm gonna get my PJs on."

Auggie nodded and set to work mapping out the space with his cane while Mel retreated to her room to do whatever girls did to get ready for bed. When he found the mini-fridge, he opened it and felt around inside. His fingers collided with several cans, though of course Auggie couldn't be sure if they were beers or sodas. He grabbed a couple and walked to Mel's door, which was cracked an inch. He pushed it open all the way. "Hey, Mel - "

"Auggie!" she scolded. "Geez - "

"Oh, calm down," Auggie scoffed. "I can't see you, remember?"

"You forget I have a blind dad?" she retorted. "Still not okay to just walk into a girl's room when she's changing." Auggie grinned at her fake exasperation. "Well, what do you want?" she demanded, her voice muffled by whatever shirt she was pulling over her head.

"Which one of these is beer?"

"You're drinking?" she asked skeptically. "Don't you have a doctor's appointment tomorrow afternoon?"

Auggie made a disgusted face at her. "Et tu, Mel?"

"I have no idea what that means," she replied, brushing past him. Evidently she was finished changing.

"It's Shakespeare."

"No, I know what it's _from_, asshole," she laughed. "I just don't know why you just said it to me."

"Forget it," Auggie remarked moodily, placing the cans on the coffee table and sitting down on the couch. He rubbed his face and then relaxed into his favorite pose these days: legs out, head back, eyes closed.

"Okay," Mel elongated the word as she sat down next to him. She grabbed his hand and placed a cold can in it. "Here's what is certainly the most overpriced can of Dos Equis you've ever had in your life. Cheers," she chimed as she tapped her own can against his.

"Cheers," Auggie returned, then opened his beer and took a long swig. The two were quiet a moment.

"So you wanna tell me what that was about?" Mel asked casually.

Auggie groaned. He'd dared to hope she would actually forget it.

Mel refused to capitulate. She let the silence grow long as she waited for his response.

"You ever do counseling? When you got back?" Auggie asked finally.

"Hm," Mel grunted. It sounded like he'd caught her off-guard. "No, actually. Not that it wouldn't have been a fantastic idea. I was just thick-headed enough to believe I was handling it all pretty well, considering. In fact, I distinctly remember thinking _exactly_ that the morning I literally poured vodka over my Lucky Charms and ate it that way for breakfast."

"Yikes," Auggie muttered. Well, he hadn't done that. _Yet_.

"You thinking about seeing a therapist, soldier?" Mel pushed.

"_I'm_ not. My mom wants me to. And Alan," Auggie admitted. "Especially Alan." He shook his head as he remembered the horrendous fight they'd had the night before. "It's been a little intense around the Anderson homestead lately."

"Yeah, I kinda gathered that," Mel said sympathetically.

Auggie looked quizzically in her direction. _How had she gathered that?_ He'd been tight-lipped on the subject.

"The phone call," Mel reminded. "She went from zero to sixty in no time flat. Which means she was already worried about you before I opened my big mouth."

"Oh." That made sense. As always, it was hard to hide anything from Mel.

"So Alan wants you to see someone...and you refuse?" Mel deduced.

"That's about the size of it," Auggie confirmed. They drank in silence for another minute, then Auggie asked quietly, "What was it like for you?"

"For me? Coming home?"

"Yeah."

Auggie listened to Mel draw a breath, apparently gathering her thoughts. "Not easy. But then you could've guessed that. I had a lot of rehab to do; it took a long time to learn how to walk again, and a few more months after that until I got my first permanent set of legs. After that, well, it gets a little blurry. On account of the booze," she explained.

Auggie waited for her to continue. He and Mel hadn't talked about her injury much, not since that first night in front of the fire and once at the bus stop on his last day in the program.

"I don't know, though, I think it was easier for me than it's been for you," she commented thoughtfully.

Auggie grunted in agreement. "Yeah, I'd rather lose my legs than be blind, too."

Mel exhaled scornfully. "That's not what I meant, Auggie. But thanks for totally diminishing my experience."

Auggie wasn't taking the bait. He felt the familiar anger gathering in his chest like a storm cloud. "So you _would_ rather be blind?" he challenged with a sneer, sitting up and glaring in her direction. It was a dare.

"I didn't say that. But _you_ don't have a monopoly on pain, okay?" she snapped.

Her heard her get up from the couch and walk to her room. _Crap._ His anger was already dissipating. He didn't seem to have the energy for it these days. "Mel," he called, getting up from the couch and making his way to her room, painfully stubbing his toe on an ottoman in the process. When he got there, he found her door open. He placed his hand over his eyes. "Mel? Look, I'm not peeking this time," he attempted to joke.

She was suddenly in front of him. "Come," she commanded, offering her lead. They walked across the room together, then Mel took his hand and placed it on her bed. "My bed."

He looked at her with one raised eyebrow. _Where was this going?_

Next, she moved his hand and placed it on the back of a chair that was sitting beside her bed. "A chair?" he asked, more confused than ever.

"Wrong," she asserted. "To you, it's a chair; to me, it's a 'safety chair.' Some amputees, _like myself_, are prone to forgetting we're missing limbs in the middle of the night. Especially when we wake up disoriented from a nightmare where they're, y'know, being blown off all over again. It just takes one bad fall to land back in the wheelchair for a month. So, before I go to bed at night, I gotta drag a chair to my bedside so that, if I _do_ try to jump out of bed and land on feet that _don't exist anymore_, the freaking chair will remind me."

Auggie hung his head and sighed.

_When did I become such an asshole?_


	42. Chapter 42

05.07.08

"Here," Mel offered, pressing the lukewarm coffee mug to the back of Auggie's hand. It was the first word either of them had spoken all morning. The fight they'd had the night before - _wow, they'd really had a fight _- had ended in a détente, both of them quietly retreating to their separate bedrooms.

"Thanks," Auggie said, clearing his throat and then yawning as he sat at the small round table in the room's dining area.

Mel was exhausted this morning and knew Auggie must be, too; she'd been awakened frequently throughout the night by the noise coming from his room on the other side of her wall. She knew it was nightmares even though they hadn't talked specifically about the "trouble" Auggie had been having sleeping. Not a single vet she knew had come back without them. Of course, they varied in duration and intensity for each soldier, usually directly related to what kind of action they'd seen. Judging from the ferocity of the sounds emanating from his room all night, Auggie had been through some shit.

"You ready?" she asked after a few minutes of drinking coffee together in silence, noting that the time on the wall clock in the room read 8 o'clock. Auggie's appointment at Hopkins wasn't until later this afternoon, but he'd wanted to get on the road early.

"Yeah," he answered, grabbing his cane and his suitcase in one hand, and Mel's arm in the other.

They checked out and made their way to the garage to retrieve their rental car. As Auggie loaded their stuff into the trunk of the small sedan, Mel fiddled with the navigation system. She was in the middle of inputting the address for Johns Hopkins when Auggie popped into the open passenger side door. "No," he stopped her. "I wanna make a quick detour first."

Mel looked at him for a moment and then began deleting what she'd just entered. "Okay, just tell me where to go," she said, as Auggie got in and buckled his seat belt. She started the car, then waited expectantly.

"Head north on the GW Parkway," he directed.

"Uh..." Mel began.

"We're not going to Langley," Auggie interrupted, rolling his eyes.

"Good. Because I just had a little heart attack."

Auggie breathed a small laugh and leaned his head against the glass of his window.

Mel was itchy with curiosity, but didn't want to pry. She'd know soon enough where they were headed, she figured. She'd only just finished the thought when Auggie spoke up, "Take the exit for Arlington."

Her heart fell. _Arlington_. "Auggie, are you sure you're up for this?" she questioned gently.

"It ain't ever gonna get any easier," he spoke quietly to the window. Then, as an explanation, "I missed all the memorials because I was in the hospital."

Mel shook her head and resisted the urge to fight him on this. She obediently followed the well-marked route to Arlington. As they entered the gates, Auggie sat up. "Section - "

" - 60," Mel finished. "Yeah, I know. I've been here," she clarified. "We have to get a pass first, though."

Auggie grabbed his messenger bag from the floor of the car and rummaged through it as Mel parked in front of the Welcome Center. "Here," he said, handing her a handicapped parking placard. Mel snorted and removed her own from where it had been dangling on the rear view mirror. "I got us covered, soldier," she said as she lightly tapped Auggie's forearm with it. "Never leave home without it."

She exited the car, then realized she didn't know where they were headed. "Names?" she asked hesitantly as she leaned back in the open window.

Auggie closed his eyes. "William Rowland and Christopher Murphy."

"Got it."

When Mel returned with the temporary parking pass and directions to the gravesites, Auggie was out of the car, leaning back against the hood. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be listening intently to something.

"Hey," she announced herself, but Auggie just raised a finger to his lips.

"Taps," was his whispered explanation.

It was only then that Mel caught the distant sound of the trumpet on the breeze. It was a clear, sunny day, with highs expected in the low seventies. A perfect spring morning. _A perfect morning for a funeral. _Arlington conducted about 30 a day, and each time, a bugler blew the melancholy notes of Taps. Mel felt the sadness and loss that she'd experienced the one other time she'd been here, for her friend, Sam. Sam had put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger six months after he'd returned from Iraq in 2006. His was one of the faces that had flashed in front of her eyes when she'd made the decision to call Auggie's house a week earlier.

When the song ended, Mel and Auggie got back into the car and drove slowly to Section 60. Mel had heard it called "the saddest acre in America," and she found the moniker tragically apt: Section 60 was home to the fallen from the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. Sam and a handful of acquaintances were here. She blinked back tears. She wasn't here for herself; she was here for Auggie.

Mel parked the car and then walked around to get Auggie. He left his cane in the car and followed her lead. She consulted the sheet of paper she'd gotten at the Welcome Center and led them across the grass. They came to Chris's grave first, and Mel placed Auggie's hand lightly on the tombstone. She watched silently as Auggie knelt and drew his fingertips over the chiseled letters on the gravestone:

CHRISTOPHER A MURPHY

CPL  
US ARMY

OCTOBER 30, 1984

DECEMBER 13, 2007

BRONZE STAR  
PURPLE HEART

OPERATION IRAQI FREEDOM

After a few moments, he rose and Mel wordlessly led him four rows over, to where Billy was buried. Auggie released her arm, but then turned to her. "Would you mind giving me a minute?" he asked with a pained look on his face.

"Of course," Mel breathed. "I'm gonna walk back to the car. Just...call me when you're done."

"Thanks."

"And Auggie?"

"Yeah?"

"Take as long as you need."


	43. Chapter 43

05.07.08

Auggie had stayed at Billy's grave for close to an hour before finally pulling out his cell phone and calling Mel. He'd appreciated that she'd come to get him without a single question or mention of how long he'd sat there. She was also polite enough not to refer to the fact he'd been crying, which he was sure was obvious. All of these were the reasons he'd wanted to do this depressing errand with Mel, and nobody else.

Now, they were arriving at Johns Hopkins. Auggie's appointment wasn't until 3 o'clock, but they'd been able to get ahold of Chris and he'd had time for a late lunch. As Mel pulled up to the curb, Chris jumped into the backseat of the car. He once again smelled of antiseptic as he clasped Auggie's shoulders from behind.

"Hey," he said, out of breath.

"Hey," Auggie returned. "Chris, meet Mel. Mel, this is Chris."

"Oh. You're Mel," Chris said, and Auggie couldn't quite pin down the odd inflection in his brother's voice. "It's really good to meet you."

"Ditto. That is, assuming all the Anderson brothers aren't as ill-tempered as this one," Mel joked, and Auggie knew she was gesturing toward him. He hadn't spoken much on the hour drive from Arlington. Chris laughed, a little more loudly than was normal for him.

They drove to a tiny Mediterranean restaurant a few miles from the hospital. When they were seated, Chris began to chat with Mel. And it finally dawned on Auggie what was happening. Chris was _flirting_. With Mel. _With my Mel, _Auggie thought possessively. And illogically.

"So how are things going with you and that girl you told me about? The doctor?" Auggie interjected, knowing he was being an asshole. _Again_.

Chris was quiet a moment, and Auggie was 100% sure he was wishing Auggie could see his glare. He let the corner of his mouth that Mel couldn't see from where she was sitting twitch just the tiniest bit for Chris's benefit.

"It didn't work out," he said pointedly. "Anyway..." and he launched back into conversation with Mel. Chris had discovered that Mel's parents were from Venezuela, where he'd studied abroad for a year in college, and the two of them were excitedly sharing anecdotes about places in the country they'd each been to. Auggie's irritation rose as he listened to the two of them chat like old friends. As surprised as he'd been to hear the flirtatious tone in his brother's voice, he was even more shocked to hear it in Mel's. He'd never heard her talk like this; she was downright _chipper_. Who was she and what had she done with his badass, sailor-mouthed veteran friend?

Auggie knew he himself had a certain _je ne sais quoi_, but Chris was probably the best-looking of the Anderson brothers in a traditional sense. He was tall and lean like Auggie, but if Auggie was night, he was day: Shaggy, sandy hair, green eyes, and olive skin. Plus, he was rocking the whole "I'm a doctor" thing. That was a pretty killer pick up line. _Almost as good as the "I'm a Green Beret" or "I'm a spy for the CIA" thing_, Auggie thought sardonically, if a little bit sadly. The truth was, neither of his careers had been very conducive to healthy relationships. And he _wasn't_ a Beret or a spy. Not anymore. Anyway, he couldn't just blame Mel. Chris was giving as good as he was getting. He sounded _into_ Mel.

Finally, Auggie checked his watch. He was antsy to get out of this restaurant for a couple of reasons. "Two o'clock, kiddos," he announced abruptly, finding the check and slipping several bills inside.

"Isn't your appointment at 3 o'clock?" Chris asked. "We're five minutes from Kessel's office. I'll take you there myself. We've got at least 20 minutes."

Auggie looked in Chris's direction, and it was his turn to be frustrated by the impossibility of eye contact. "What happened to your busy resident schedule?"

"Long as this pager's not going off, I'm okay for the moment."

Auggie sighed in exasperation and listened for the next twenty minutes as Chris and Mel uncovered one thing after another that they had in common. Finally, Mel suggested they get a move on. "Okay, boys, let's boogaloo," she declared cheerfully.

"Boogaloo?" Chris repeated, shocked. "My mom says that!"

Auggie rolled his eyes.


	44. Chapter 44

05.07.08

Much to Mel's delight, Chris's schedule had cleared up unexpectedly for the afternoon, and he offered to keep her company while Auggie was in with Dr. Kessel. The appointment, which included an MRI, would last at least an hour, so Mel had brought a book. However, sitting next to Auggie's handsome older brother, she was quite happy to leave the book in her purse.

Chris didn't really look a whole lot like Auggie. Both were good-looking (_okay, hot_), but as with Jan and Auggie, the brothers shared more gestures and mannerisms than actual physical characteristics. Personality-wise, Chris seemed more serious. Mel found herself drinking in the way he appeared to focus in on her completely when she spoke. His follow-up questions were insightful and engaging, whether he was asking her about her work at the center or the cello she'd given up playing in high school. She knew Auggie had been annoyed at how she and Chris were connecting, but she hadn't been able to help herself.

However, after an hour and a half of easy dialogue, Mel started to get a little nervous. She'd been distracted by Chris, but now her worries about what exactly Auggie was doing here began to niggle at the back of her brain and undermine her ability to participate fully in the conversation she was having. Finally, she interrupted whatever it was that Chris had been saying - she didn't know what it was - and blurted, "What is Auggie doing here?'

Chris shook his head in surprise and his mouth fell open an inch. "Uh..."

"I mean, you referred him, right?"

"I did."

"Why?"

Chris pursed his lips. She liked that he didn't answer right away. She liked the way he seemed to always think before he spoke. The irony was not lost on her: _Opposites attract_, she thought sarcastically.

"Why not?" he finally answered.

"_Why not?_" she asked, astonished. "I can think of about a dozen reasons, chief among them his spirit being crushed all over again if this doesn't work out."

"You think his spirit wasn't crushed before he came here today?" Chris inquired, and Mel was once again impressed by his perspicacity.

"Touché," she replied. "But you're a doctor..."

"I am."

"...and you honestly think there's a chance he'll be able to see again someday? Because, lemme tell ya, I've spent a lot of time around blind people. And I haven't heard a whole lot of stories like that. Like zero. I've heard exactly zero stories like that," Mel concluded.

Chris nodded slowly. "I don't know what to say." He spread his hands and shrugged sadly. "I just wanted to help my little brother."

Mel couldn't stop herself. She reached out and grabbed his hand.


	45. Chapter 45

05.07.08

_Same shit, different day_, thought Auggie furiously as he burst through the doors separating Dr. Kessel's office from the waiting area. A nurse was calling his name from somewhere behind him, probably needing one last signature or something, but he didn't really care.

"Auggie," Mel and Chris spoke his name simultaneously, and he curled his lip in disgust at the two of them. While he'd been in that office hearing, for what seemed like the millionth time, that he was too broken to fix, they'd been out here lost in some sort of pheromone haze.

He turned without a word and headed angrily down the hall toward the exit, his cane clearing the way in front of him. He knew his way out of the building. After that, it would be a crap shoot. One of the most maddening things about his blindness - especially lately - was his inability to storm off effectively. Ditto getting in a car or onto a motorcycle and peeling out. But he had to get out of this building _now_. He'd decide when he got there what to do after that.

The tip of his cane met resistance, and he brought his hand up. _Bingo_. His palm came into contact with the metal bar across the middle of the door, which he depressed violently, and _voilà _- he was suddenly outside. The cacophonous sounds of Baltimore in the afternoon met his ears, and he felt dizzy for a moment. And that's when he felt Mel's hand clasp his elbow.

"Auggie, wait!" she commanded.

He tore his arm out of her grasp and strode forward.

"Dammit, Auggie, hold up!"

"What do you want?" he wheeled to face her.

"I don't know what the hell happened in that office, but I can guess it wasn't good news. I'm so sorry, Auggie," she said passionately.

"You're not sorry," he growled. He could sense her shock, imagine her recoiling from him. And he could feel the thought gathering force behind his lips; he knew he was going to say it. A tiny voice in the back of his head begged him not to, but there was no stopping it now:

"You're not sorry," he spat again. "You didn't want me to come, you didn't think it would work, and now you're happy it didn't. After all, what would we have in common if I got my sight back? Huh? You'd lose your little gimp buddy. Your legs sure as shit aren't gonna grow back. Well, good news: You were right. Happy?" _Oh shit, what did I just say?_ _Who am I? This can't be happening. _

Auggie felt her hands on his chest, where she grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and yanked him down to her height. Her voice in his ear was low and dangerous. "Listen here, you _asshole_. It wasn't my idea to come here and I _am_ sorry for you. But not because you're blind. Because you're allowing your loss to turn you into a bitter prick. What I was _trying_ to say last night, when I said you had it harder than I did, is that you're still clinging to hope. As you so _eloquently_ put it, legs. don't. grow. back." She enunciated each word, and he could feel the hot blast of her breath against his cheek. "But you've been clinging to this absurd hope that your eyes are coming back. They're not. Deal with it. Before you alienate absolutely everyone in your life." She paused and seemed to be looking around, from the way her hair fluttered against his face. "And if you could see one inch past your effing nose, I'd leave your ass right here on this street corner." Instead, she released his shirt with a little shove and smacked her hand into the back of his. "Are you coming?" she asked coldly.

The anger exploded in his head again, and suddenly he was seeing stars. He whipped around and headed for the sounds of traffic. He approached the street and stepped into the cut-out. But his head was spinning, and he couldn't seem to pinpoint the sounds of parallel traffic that he'd been trained to listen for. All the pain and confusion and grief and loss and guilt and fear of the previous 5 months came crashing down on him. He thought he was going back to work at the CIA, thought he was going to keep serving his country? What bullshit. _He couldn't even cross a freaking street._

He was frozen, turned around, lost.

So he threw away his cane, heard it hit the ground. Then he walked into traffic, counting on somebody else to finish the job the explosion didn't.

He heard a horn honk, tires screech, and Mel's terrified scream behind him.

He closed his eyes and waited for the darkness.

* * *

**END OF PART ONE**


	46. Chapter 46

_A/N: You. You guys. You GUYS. You've absolutely spoiled me. I think the average has been a review an hour since I published the last chapter of Part One. I'm feeling very, very loved. So I decided to get you a present. It's called "Part Two," and this is the beginning. Hope you like it (I didn't know your size). ;0P_

* * *

**PART TWO**

* * *

07.04.08

Auggie tumbled to the ground, ragged breaths competing with hacking coughs to draw oxygen into his deprived lungs. _Air, I need air. _

From above him, Kim was laughing her ass off. She didn't seem to be in the same predicament.

"Laugh it up, Chuckles," he panted as he spread out his arms and dug his fingers into the warm grass of the front lawn. He ripped out two handfuls and tossed them in the direction of Kim's chortling. He was pretty sure he missed. He didn't care. He laid his head back down and soaked in the delicious heat of the sun and the warmth in his chest that had absolutely nothing to do with it.

"Be honest with me," he began, still breathing heavily.

"Always," Kim answered as her giggles finally subsided.

"What were you at that last mile? Like 80, 90%?" _Please say 90%._

"Um..."

"I'll know if you're lying. It's a blind thing."

Kim snorted. Apparently she knew when he was lying, too. "I'd say...65%?" she answered apologetically, as she took a seat next to him in the grass.

Auggie let out a pained groan and rolled over to face her, propping himself up on an elbow. "You gotta be kidding me."

"Sorry."

"Yeah, I'll bet."

Auggie and Kim had just returned from a 6-mile run. Andy and Auggie were planning to do the Chicago Triathlon in a month and a half, and training had begun in earnest. Only, Andy had tweaked his ankle earlier in the week and was staying off it for a few days. Auggie didn't want to miss a week of training with the race so close, so he'd had no choice but to run with Kim. Auggie was fast; on his own and well-conditioned, he ran a 6-minute mile. Andy was faster, regularly pushing Auggie (excruciatingly) into the rarified echelons of 5-minute-milers. But Kim? Kim was a freaking _gazelle_. If Auggie weren't already blind, he was pretty sure he would've blacked out on the last mile, tethered to her as he was.

"All right, I gotta go feed the monster," Kim announced, referring to Auggie's three month old niece, Katie.

Auggie rose with her. "Mind if I catch a ride with you? Left my cane in the big house."

Kim didn't say anything, just touched the back of his hand with her own, and they walked casually up the sloping lawn and into the house.

As usual, the sounds of Katie's wailing filled the kitchen. Katie was not an easy baby, which Auggie suspected was one of the reasons Kim had begun running again only a week and a half after her birth. The kinds of punishing speeds at which she ran almost certainly helped tamp down the anxiety she must feel; it had worked for Auggie. But Jan helped a lot, watching Katie when Kim had personal training appointments, and she had the kind of patience with the colicky baby that only a grandparent would.

"When are people getting here tonight?" Auggie asked Jan as she passed off the hungry infant to her mother.

"Four o'clock," Jan replied, and Auggie nodded. He snapped his cane into shape and headed up to his apartment to hit the shower.

He was actually looking forward to the evening's festivities.


	47. Chapter 47

07.04.08

Auggie sat on the sandy beach with a beer in his hand, letting the laughter and chatter of his parents' annual Fourth of July get-together swirl around him. It had been a long time since he'd been home for it, and the familiarity of it all was comforting. It was cooler than normal for this time of year, and Auggie zipped up the soft cotton hoodie he was wearing over a v-neck tee and shorts. He considered pulling the hood up, but then realized doing so would probably make him look pretty unapproachable. Auggie had already learned how different parties were when you were blind, that your approachability factor meant the difference between standing alone all night and having people come up and start conversations. He was contemplating this when he heard someone sit heavily beside him.

"Hey, bro."

"Mikey. How you doing?"

"I'll let you know in a couple hours," he returned cryptically.

Auggie grinned in understanding. Mike's moods rose or fell along with the fates of his favored sports teams. "Who we playing tonight?"

"Cardinals."

"Go, Cubs, go," Auggie drawled, holding out his beer bottle. Mike didn't disappoint, and Auggie felt Mike's beer clink against his own. Then, for reasons he wasn't really clear on, Auggie abruptly raised his bottle 6 more inches and brought it swiftly down on top of Mike's.

"Shit!" Mike cried out, and the rest of his curses were muffled as he tried to swallow the beer foaming explosively from the neck of his bottle.

Auggie fell onto his side laughing, which was a mistake, since Mike was all over him in a matter of seconds. The two brothers wrestled in the sand like juveniles, and Auggie was barely aware through his adolescent joy that the crowd had begun to watch and cheer them on. Mike outweighed Auggie by a good thirty pounds, and had also been a star wrestler in high school and college. But he was 6 years older, out of shape, and didn't have the kind of professional fighting experience Auggie had. It took an exhausting 90 seconds, but Auggie eventually pinned Mike, and the small crowd went wild. He got up and held out a hand to Mike, which Mike used to stand up, and the two brothers embraced through laughter that had them almost in tears.

As Auggie brushed the sand out of his hair, he allowed himself to remember the last time he'd grappled with Mike, and how differently it had ended. This time, there was no knife, no unnaturally powerful explosion of adrenaline, no fear. _Progress_. Auggie was drawing his pockets inside out to empty them of the cup and a half of beach that had gotten into them, when he heard a male voice he couldn't quite place address him:

"Looks like you still got it, Auggie."

He looked up. "Yeah?" He wasn't sure what the man was referring to.

"It's so good to see you, man," the voice continued familiarly. Then arms wrapped around Auggie and he instinctively hugged the man back, though he had no idea who it was. "I ran into your mom at the grocery store a couple months ago and she said you were staying here until you got back on your feet. I was looking forward to seeing you tonight. How you been?"

Auggie hated to do it, but he didn't see any other option: "I'm sorry, I don't recognize your voice," he offered with a rueful half-smile.

"Oh. Crap, I suck. Yeah, it's Jeff," the man rushed to explain.

"Jeff Pritchard!" Auggie exclaimed, with real enthusiasm. "Now it's my turn to be sorry. Don't know how I missed that." Jeff had been Auggie's wrestling coach in high school. Still was the wrestling coach at Green Hill Prep, last Auggie had heard.

"No, no, it was my bad. Anyway, I meant what I said just there. Pretty fun to watch you pin big Mikey Anderson with moves I taught you," he chuckled. Then he appended, "Though there were a couple in there I didn't recognize. I'm gonna assume you picked those up at Stanford...or would those be Army moves?"

Auggie just laughed and shook his head.

"So how _have_ you been?" Jeff asked again.

Auggie inhaled deeply to buy time, then realized he didn't need it. A slow smile spread across his face. For this moment anyway, he was completely unambivalent:

"I'm good, man. I'm good."


	48. Chapter 48

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]**  
Date:** July 5, 2008 2:56:14 PM CST**  
To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]**  
Subject:** **Status Update Required**

?

Mel

* * *

**From: **"Anderson, August" [aanderson80]**  
Date:** July 5, 2008 8:37:02 PM CST**  
To:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]**  
Subject: Re: Status Update Required**

Calm down, Warden. The terms of my release are still being met.

- A

* * *

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]**  
Date:** July 6, 2008 6:43:11 PM CST**  
To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]**  
Subject: Re:** **Status Update Required**

That's the spirit.

And I could get used to being called "Warden."

How are you?

Mel

* * *

**From: **"Anderson, August" [aanderson80]**  
Date:** July 6, 2008 9:11:31 PM CST**  
To:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]**  
Subject: Re: Status Update Required**

Can't you just ask Chris?

- A

* * *

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]**  
Date:** July 7, 2008 9:02:17 AM CST**  
To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]**  
Subject: Re:** **Status Update Required**

Oh, har. You're a real funny guy.

I prefer to get my info straight from the horse's mouth. Or, in this case, the jackass's.

How. Are. You?

Mel

* * *

**From: **"Anderson, August" [aanderson80]**  
Date:** July 8, 2008 4:58:36 PM CST**  
To:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]**  
Subject: Re: Status Update Required**

I'm good. Really good.

And thanks, Warden.

-A


	49. Chapter 49

07.08.08

Mel shut her laptop with a smile, and placed it on the nightstand. Then she closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Auggie was good. No, _really good_. She laid back on the bed in the dark and tried to fall asleep, but that day two months earlier began to replay in her mind.

...

_"Are you coming?" she asked him angrily._

_She couldn't believe the way he'd just spoken to her. She was hurt, sure, but more than that - she was pissed. Out of nowhere, he'd made her the enemy, when she'd done nothing wrong. She wanted so badly to storm off, but there were certain rules of warfare with a blind person that you just couldn't break without being a terrible human. It wasn't fair play to leave him stranded at a busy intersection in a strange city, no matter how ugly he was being._

_Still, she'd been so tempted to do it that she was frankly happy when he'd turned away and stormed off of his own accord. He got to the cut-out and attempted to line himself up, but he looked confused as his parallel traffic started up on his right hand side. She stood glaring darts at his back, but her anger turned to alarm as she watched Auggie deliberately release his cane and let it clatter to the pavement. Then he made a 90-degree right turn and walked directly into the path of oncoming traffic. Without his cane, the distracted commuters on Wolfe Street had no idea he couldn't see them. As a Coca-Cola delivery truck bore down on his stationary form in the middle of the intersection, she began to scream. She was about to watch Auggie be killed, right in front of her eyes, and she couldn't do a thing about it._

_Some drivers have good reflexes. Thank God. The truck stopped within inches of Auggie's forlorn frame, and Mel was beside him 5 seconds later._

_"Auggie!" cried Chris, and Mel looked up to see him exiting the building and taking in the scene as he ran to them._

_Horns were honking and people were getting out of their cars to offer assistance. It was a madhouse scene, and Mel took command. "He's fine!" she assured the rubberneckers and the ashen-faced delivery truck driver as she led Auggie back to the sidewalk. "Just got a little turned around is all! It happens!" She even managed a dopey "whoopsie-daisy" kind of smile, though her heart still felt like it was stuck in her throat._

_"Auggie, are you okay?" Chris asked, going into physician mode and scanning Auggie for injuries._

_Mel quickly answered for him. "He's fine. It was an accident. He got turned around."_

_The instinct to cover for him was mysterious, and she wasn't sure why she had done it. But Auggie, who had yet to speak, grabbed her then and hugged her tightly, and she was glad she had._

_..._

Mel hadn't let him off the hook so easily, though. A plan had formed in her head almost immediately, and once they'd left Baltimore, she'd used the hour-long drive back to DC to tell him how it was going to go down.

He was getting help, or else. Help meant going to counseling, taking better care of himself physically, and finally taking advantage of the fact that Glencoe was less than three miles from the world-famous Hadley School for the Blind. On a bus route, no less.

The "or else" part was this: If he didn't get his act together, she'd report his suicide attempt to every veteran agency she could think of, creating a mark on his record so permanent that the CIA would never take him back, no matter how brilliant this genius hack he was planning was. She'd also tell his mother. Mel wasn't sure which horrified him more.

And it was working. _It was working_.

Mel smiled a self-satisfied little grin and rolled over, wrapping her right arm snugly around the warm, sleeping form of her doctor boyfriend.

* * *

_A/N: _

_1) To the reviewers who had heart attacks when I didn't start Part Two where Part One left off: C'mon, you guys. Have a little faith in me! You think I'd play you like that, leave you hanging off that cliff forever? :)_

_2) Believe it or not, I'm not making up the celebrated Hadley School for the Blind or its location just 3 miles south of Auggie's hometown. True story._


	50. Chapter 50

07.09.08

Auggie grinned as he pushed back from his desk. It was late, past midnight according to his watch, but he'd had a goal this morning and he hadn't been willing to turn in until he'd accomplished it: He'd officially read the entire front page of the New York Times' website, using only his refreshable Braille display. No screen reader, just newly-sensitive fingertips tracing over the pins jumping and dropping underneath them. It had taken 3 hourlong sessions over the course of the day, but he'd done it.

He scooted his chair back in and quickly navigated to his email. There was something from Hadley about his cooking class registration and a quick note from Alan with an attachment Auggie had asked him for detailing ADA regulations in the workplace. Auggie would read those in the morning. He clicked down one more line and came across the last email Mel had sent, and smiled.

He knew he owed her for the newfound peace he'd enjoyed for the past several weeks. After what he euphemistically thought of as "the incident" in Baltimore, Mel had effectively blackmailed him. She'd been just diabolical enough to understand that the only two things that could possibly motivate him to want to keep living at that moment were his hope of getting back to the Agency, and his desire not to hurt his mother. Concerning the latter reason, it ashamed him even now to acknowledge how incredibly selfish he'd been in that moment. His mother had been through so much already - if he'd died that day, it would've destroyed her. He didn't like to think about it, and he was relieved and grateful that Mel had been the only witness to his recklessness.

Of course, her discretion had come at a cost, one that had seemed downright usurious to him at the time. He'd have to go to therapy, start taking some classes at Hadley, and take better care of himself physically. The last one was fine, and classes at Hadley didn't sound terrible. But therapy? That one was a bitter pill. He'd fought her on it, using her own experience of not doing counseling against her, but she wouldn't budge. He'd finally agreed to it, but on his own terms: not at the VA, not through his insurance, and not in Glencoe or the neighboring North Shore cities. She thought he was being paranoid, but she'd never worked at the CIA; he'd seen personnel files at the Agency more detailed than the subject's diary, and he didn't want his mental health being up for discussion at Langley...assuming he ever managed to get back in the building.

And now she was keeping tabs on him, making sure he was following through on their deal. As with the deal itself, her "status updates" had been supremely irritating at first. But Auggie had always been, at heart, a good little Eagle Scout, and he'd fallen in line pretty quickly. And when he was honest with himself, he could admit that it was comforting to have somebody riding his ass and holding him accountable. The only time in his life he'd ever _not_ had that had been the 5 months after his injury, and that hadn't gone so well. _To put it lightly_. Mel had seen him at his absolute worst on a couple of occasions, and she'd stuck around. She was a good friend.

But she was apparently much more than that to Chris now. He smirked at the thought. Unbeknownst to Auggie, the two had kept in touch after Baltimore. Chris swore that, at first, it was just to check in on Auggie. _Right_. Evidently Auggie had missed out on quite a lot by never having laid eyes on Mel, and Chris - the hot bachelor doctor - was suddenly, happily, shockingly off the market. Auggie had used the opportunity of Chris's misplaced guilt to get a description of Mel out of his brother, and he was surprised to hear that Seth, if anything, had been underselling her. Though Auggie had assumed correctly that Mel had honey-colored skin and dark, wavy hair, his initial "sexy Latina" mental image was off on one very important point: Mel didn't have brown eyes; hers were a startling shade of pale green. The overall effect was, in Chris's words, "stunning." He'd also mentioned that she had a thin burn scar on the right side of her face, presumably from the landmine explosion, but other than that, to see her wearing long pants you'd never know she'd been hurt. _Interesting_, Auggie had thought.

He also found it interesting to consider how different the outcome of their relationship might have been if they'd met under different circumstances, and with his eyesight. He guessed they'd have ended up in bed together eventually; that's how it usually went for him with attractive women. But he wasn't sorry they'd never hooked up, and he wasn't angry at Chris for hooking up with her. It somehow seemed...right. She and Chris did actually have an astonishing amount of things in common, from their bizarrely redneck love of NASCAR, to their professions, where they were both essentially healers. Add to that the fact that Auggie was nowhere near ready for a relationship, and he was honestly happy for the two of them.

But the next time he met a girl like Mel? Oh, he'd go for it. _Definitely_.


	51. Chapter 51

08.13.08

The hiss of exhaust and the squeal of brakes told Auggie his bus had arrived, and the helpful pre-recorded voice announcing itself confirmed it. He stood and approached the bus, going through the routine Mel had taught him to board. He found an open seat and settled in; it would take at least a half hour to go the 7 miles between Glencoe and Evanston, where he'd hop on the L into Chicago. Another hour on the train, including a transfer, plus a 10 minute walk, and he'd eventually end up where he was headed. One of the frustrations of living with blindness was the exorbitant surcharge of time it added to getting anywhere independently. Auggie allowed himself one wistful moment of longingly considering the 'Vette parked in his parents' garage, then shook it off. Ruminating on that kind of stuff led to dark places.

Anyway, he got a lot more reading done traveling this way. He pulled his book out of his messenger bag, its bulk having taken up a good portion of the interior of the pack. He ran his fingers over the title, still new enough to Braille to be amazed that he could now decrypt the maze of dots scattered across the first page. _Snow Crash_. It'd been hell to find, but he'd finally gotten ahold of a copy through the Royal National Institute of Blind People in London. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for his resourcefulness on that one - he wasn't just your average blind dude, after all. Turns out, his Agency experience still came in handy. Oh, and _friends_.

By the time his second train reached its destination an hour and a half later, he'd gotten through a respectable 10 pages of the book. He'd read it before, of course, but it was one of his favorites, and it made Braille practice a lot more palatable. As he exited the train and felt the bumps of the tactile edge of the platform under his feet, yet another person in a seemingly never-ending series of aggressively (un)helpful people grabbed his hand wordlessly, and started to drag him only God knew where. "Nope, no thanks, I got it," he objected, trying his best to sound pleasant as he disentangled himself from the annoying stranger. He'd worked hard to get this route down, and the last thing he needed was some sighted idiot taking him off-course. He resented even the help he did need; there was no way he was accepting help he _didn't_ need.

He struck out on the familiar path, walking the 5 blocks to his destination. Arriving, he took a moment to compose himself before he walked into his therapist's office. _I have a therapist_, he thought, shaking his head in disbelief.


	52. Chapter 52

08.13.08

Auggie entered the quiet waiting room, where the only sound was the faint tinkling of some sort of water feature that Auggie hadn't been brave enough to try to locate and figure out yet. The smell of patchouli filled his nostrils, and he laughed to himself at what a turn-off it had been the first time he'd come here. John, owner of this waiting room and the therapist Auggie had eventually settled on, was the third Auggie had visited.

The first one had been an older man Auggie had chosen because he'd described himself as a "disabled vet" in his online profile. However, in their first session, Auggie had been immediately turned off to discover that the extent of his disability was a bad back...which he'd gotten playing football at the Air Force Academy. Not exactly combat experience, Auggie had thought sardonically. But that hadn't stopped the man from regaling Auggie, presumably in an attempt to connect, with tales from his time in the "service," comprised of a grand total of 8 years stationed outside of Seattle. When he started in on the challenges he faced as a result of his bad back, Auggie'd had enough. Mel had scolded him once before for diminishing others' pain, but this was a little like a chubby American trying to connect with a starving African by telling him about the one day a few years ago when he'd had to skip lunch. Auggie was over it.

The second therapist Auggie had seen wasn't a veteran, but his profile said he often worked with veterans, and had listed trauma and PTSD as areas of specialty. He'd spent the whole first meeting trying to explore Auggie's feelings about being blind. Auggie knew by the end of their hour that the man was a liar; he didn't regularly work with veterans. If he had, he'd know that the things that haunted a returning soldier the most, even a soldier with a life-changing injury like his, were not the losses in his own life. It was the ghosts of the men he'd served with; the crushing guilt that sadistically followed narrowly surviving tragedy in combat; the relentless _what-ifs_ that filled his head as he tried to fall asleep at night; and the wicked nightmares that followed when he finally did. He'd thanked the man politely and never made another appointment.

He'd been ready to throw in the towel, and would have if Mel hadn't come down on him like a ton of bricks, when he'd found John. John, the hippy-dippy, non-veteran, total-opposite of every other therapist he'd researched. Auggie had thrown a Hail Mary and picked him randomly from a list. John was calm and thoughtful and listened more than he spoke, which Auggie appreciated. It reminded him a little of Chris.

"Auggie?" John called, as he opened the inner door of his office.

"Hey," Auggie responded as he rose from his seat and took John's arm. John showed Auggie to a chair and sat down across from him.

"How are you?" he started.

"I'm good."

"Hm."

"The nightmares are dying down," Auggie offered.

"That's good," John commented, and then let the quiet fill the room.

That was John's trick, Auggie had discovered, letting a silence grow so wide that that Auggie felt compelled to fill it. At first, he'd resisted. Then, after several weeks, he'd finally felt comfortable enough with John to begin to open up, redacting on the fly anything that was classified. And that's what he did now, speaking generally with John for the first time about his shame over his actions in Tikrit that day, how he felt responsible for the deaths of Billy, Chris, and Jason. When he'd finished, voice shaking, John took a minute to respond.

"Remind me again of where you were when the bomb went off?" he queried.

"What?" Auggie responded, confused.

"Where were you when the bomb went off?" John repeated.

"Tikrit."

"No, I mean - where exactly?"

Auggie furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure what John was asking for. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to think back to the moments before the explosion. For their first 3 sessions, they'd done this over and over again. John had explained that he was using a process called "exposure therapy," which entailed going over the trauma so many times that you desensitized to it and it lost its shock value. It had been excruciating for Auggie the first two sessions. But on the third, it somehow wasn't anymore. Calmly thinking back on the actual moment the bomb went off would have been impossible for Auggie a few short months ago. But now he was able to visualize the scene with only a momentary jump in the pulse under his collar.

"Running," he finally answered.

"And where were you running?" John pressed.

"Toward the Humvee."

"Toward it?"

"Yes."

"Not away from it?"

"No..." Auggie opened his eyes. What was John getting at? "I was running toward the Humvee, yelling at my guys to get outta there."

"And you knew there was a bomb under the vehicle?"

Auggie squinted. "Yeah. That's why I was running to them."

"So, you ran _to_ the vehicle. Where you knew there was a bomb. Risking your own life. To save theirs."

Auggie didn't speak.

"Auggie, I know you feel responsible for their deaths. But there's a big difference between having been able to prevent something and having actually caused it. As to the former, you may have been able to save one or all of their lives that day. If you'd done something different. If you'd done _anything_ different. But that's real 'butterfly effect' territory, don't you think?"

Auggie was familiar with the reference, the idea that a butterfly flapping its wings on one side of the earth could theoretically start a chain reaction that ended with a typhoon on the opposite side. He wasn't, however, sure of how that applied to this situation. He cocked his head to the right, hoping John would expand.

He did. "Auggie, if any of a million billion tiny things in your life had gone differently, you might not be sitting here today. Who we are at the present moment is essentially the sum of every decision, and every random twist, that has happened in our lives. It's unfair to hold yourself responsible for your friends' deaths, when you don't apply the same logic to every other aspect of life. To be consistent, you'd have to say that your own injury was your father's fault. If he'd never died, maybe you wouldn't have been the kind of person who'd join the Army."

"That doesn't make any sense..."

"Well, it makes about as much sense as saying that the incident in Tikrit was your fault because you made certain decisions instead of others in an extremely fraught and dangerous situation. And, certainly, the fact that you survived means nothing in terms of culpability. If you'd died that day, and - say - Billy had survived...would you blame him for your death?

"No," Auggie declared passionately. He didn't need a moment to think about; he thought about it constantly.

"But?"

"He wasn't in charge."

"And you were."

"Yeah."

"So it was the President's fault?"

Auggie was thrown off by the seeming non-sequitur. "What?"

"Well, the President is the Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces. Ultimately, he was in charge that day. 'Buck stops here' and all that. Right?"

Auggie could now see where this was going, but he wasn't ready to cede the point. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. "Okay, I get it. I just don't agree. At the end of the day, I could've saved my men. There's no getting around it."

"You have control issues," John remarked simply, and Auggie glared in his direction. He heard John chuckle quietly. "Look," he continued,"from all that you've told me, here's what it comes down to: In the most important moment, when absolutely everything was on the line, you ran _toward_ a bomb for the sake of your men. It doesn't get much braver than that. And you are not responsible for their deaths."

Auggie dropped his head, closed his eyes, and felt the burden lift from his shoulders.


	53. Chapter 53

08.13.08

Auggie folded his cane, placed it in his messenger bag, and slid the bag under the table. Then he grabbed the warm cup in front of him and sat back, taking in the sounds of the coffee shop. He'd gotten back to Glencoe without a hiccup and had made the impromptu decision to attempt to navigate to his favorite coffee spot. And he'd made it. He'd missed being able to make spontaneous decisions like that, and he was reveling in the sense of independence it gave him, when he heard her voice.

"No way! Auggie Anderson!" she exclaimed.

He turned to his left, the direction her voice was coming from, just as he felt her fragrant hair on his face and her bare arms around his shoulders. He was less phased than he would have been a month ago - surprise hugs were getting to be a normal occurrence in his life. At least, this time, he knew the person he was embracing. He put down his coffee and hugged her back.

"Megan," he responded. "Hey." Megan Phillips, his on-again, off-again high school sweetheart. Her family had moved away their senior year; he hadn't talked to her in a decade.

"What are you doing in town?" she asked enthusiastically, scraping a chair out and sitting down. Auggie's mouth went dry. Her question made it clear that she didn't know what had happened to him, and her bubbly tone told him she hadn't (yet) noticed anything different about him. It was the supremely awkward moment he'd feared but hadn't had to deal with up to this point. Glencoe was just small enough that word seemed to have gotten around, at least to all the people who knew the Andersons, about what had happened to Auggie. He was grateful that the blast hadn't disfigured him, but he'd realized once he'd begun going out in public that it was a double-edged sword. He found himself wishing he hadn't put his cane away; it was so much easier if people just saw the cane. _So now I want the cane_, he thought, and the irony didn't escape him.

"I got hurt in Iraq - " he started.

"You were in Iraq?" she immediately interrupted. "I thought you went off to Stanford."

"I did," he explained. "I joined the Army after I graduated." He stopped to swallow, and then figured he might as well just say it plainly, "I'm actually blind."

His revelation was met with what he assumed was a stunned silence.

"You're what?" Megan asked, confused.

"I'm blind," Auggie repeated. _Dammit, this was painful_. He waved his hand in front of his face to illustrate his point.

"Oh my gosh," she whispered, and Auggie hoped to hell she wasn't going to start crying or something. He didn't know if he could handle that kind of scene in the busy coffee shop. "I'm so sorry."

Auggie gave her a tight-lipped smile and shook his head once. "S'okay."

There was another stiff silence, where it was clear that neither of them had the slightest clue how to proceed.

"Wow," she finally spoke. "I was not expecting that."

"Be kinda weird if you were," he managed with a wan grin. Unfortunately, Megan still seemed to be reeling too hard to handle humor.

"When did it happen?"

"December."

"Oh my gosh," she echoed. "That's so recent."

"Doesn't feel that way," Auggie remarked mildly.

"So are you at your parents' place then?" she inquired, clearly trying to put the puzzle together. "They still on Longwood?"

"Yes and yes," he answered, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the small table. "My turn now: What are you doing in town? Your folks didn't move back, did they?"

"No, no, I wish. They're still in Champaign. I actually moved back to stay with my grandma for awhile. She could use the help around the house and I...well, my life is a bit of a mess right now. I'm in the middle of a divorce," she explained self-consciously.

It was Auggie's turn to be shocked. He hadn't kept up with Megan over the years, but he'd hardly pegged her as the type to marry young. Or divorce young, for that matter.

"That's rough," he acknowledged, and he heard her sigh. "So what are you doing?"

"You mean, like, for work?"

"Yeah."

"Ugh," she groaned. "I'm at Nordstrom in Skokie. I work at the MAC counter." Then she laughed. "Putting my English degree from Dartmouth to good use, as you can imagine. My life isn't stuck; it's actively going in reverse."

Auggie chuckled; he couldn't help himself. "Yeah, I know the feeling."

She was quiet again, and he could feel her staring at him. "I really am so sorry, Auggie. I can't imagine how hard that must be."

He didn't like the tone of pity that was creeping into her voice. "It's getting less hard," he reassured her. Then he had an idea. "Hey, what are you doing right now?"

"Now? Right now?"

"Yeah."

"Um...nothing. I had to pick up some dry cleaning in town, but I was just gonna head back to Gram's."

"You wanna come over?" Auggie asked.

"Sure," she agreed after a moment.

_August Anderson, what exactly are you up to? _he briefly wondered as they walked to Megan's car together.

Then he decided he didn't really need to know the answer to that just yet.


	54. Chapter 54

08.14.08

It had all gone predictably the night before...until it hadn't.

Megan had driven them back to his parents' place, and Auggie had invited her up to his apartment for a beer. He'd purchased a mini-fridge a few weeks earlier to keep some things on hand at his place; it had gotten annoying to have to cross the driveway every time he wanted something to eat or drink.

They'd had small talk for an hour or so, sharing what each knew about mutual friends they'd gone to school with. As it had gotten late, they'd ordered a pizza, had a few more beers, and continued talking. Only then they'd begun sharing what _they'd_ been up to for the past ten years. As always, it had been tricky for Auggie, but he thought he'd done a good job fibbing his way through a reasonable semblance of his actual life.

As for Megan, she'd moved to Champaign the middle of their senior year, so her dad could take a professorship at U of I. She'd only lived there a few months before she'd left for college at Dartmouth. Her freshman year at Dartmouth, she'd met the man who would later become her husband. Nate was a blue blood - a privileged white kid from a WASP-y Massachusetts family. She'd described how dazzled she'd been by his worldliness, and Auggie had to stifle the urge to roll his eyes at what a cliche the guy was. I mean, the dude played squash. _Who plays squash?_ He didn't want to be rude, though, and he had to admit he was intrigued that she'd moved on from Auggie to someone so very unlike himself.

Everything had gone swimmingly with them, she'd explained, until the first time he'd hit her, 18 months into their relationship. Auggie had sat up straight, his spine suddenly a ramrod, when she'd dropped that bombshell. "Shit, Megan," had been his only comment. He didn't know what else to say.

"I know, I'm an idiot," she'd replied, with obvious shame in her voice.

"No, Megan, that's _not_ what I meant," he'd avowed, horrified that she'd thought he was chastising her. He'd instinctively placed his arm around her shoulders, and she'd leaned into him from where she sat next to him on the small sofa he'd recently borrowed from his mother's extensive collection of unused furniture.

"No, it's okay. I am. I'm a freaking Lifetime Movie: Good Midwestern girl from a nice family falls for the sweet-talking rich boy who swears he only hits her because he loves her so much. And she believes him. It's pathetic."

Auggie had been at a loss. And here he'd thought he was the only one with a complicated backstory. He'd opened his mouth to reassure her, but only got as far as her name. As he formed the word, "Megan," her lips had brushed against his. Lightly, at first, and then suddenly she was all over him. Auggie had been too shocked to do anything but meet her kiss for the first few seconds, during which time she'd already undone his belt. She'd stood then, grabbing his hands and pulling him to his bed. Auggie had tried to tell himself that this hadn't been what he'd expected would happen...but who was he kidding?

They'd fallen onto the bed together and Auggie had been suddenly grateful that this - whatever _this_ was - was happening with Megan. He didn't think of himself as a particularly insecure person, even now, even after his injury. But nowadays the thought of sleeping with a stranger made him nervous, for a couple of reasons. One, he was still as shallow as any other guy, as shallow as he'd been before, and he wanted to know what the woman he was with looked like. On that front, he felt safe with Megan, who'd always been a knockout. He understood that ten years could change a person, sure, but her body under his hands still felt as firm as it had been when they were in high school. As her hair had fallen over his chest, he'd remembered the pale blonde color of it, remembered running his fingers through it a thousand times, the strands as fine and soft as cornsilk. She was the only blonde he'd ever dated.

But the other reason he'd been glad it was Megan pressed against him at that moment was the sense of familiarity they shared, even now after all these years. He and Megan had been together off and on for all 4 years of high school. It had never been an explosive breakup that tore them apart, just immaturity, and bullshit high school drama, and a desire for new experiences. But they'd always seemed to make their way back to each other, and there'd never been any acrimony when they did.

These two factors had turned what could have been a scary or stressful experience into something that Auggie felt himself genuinely enjoying. They rolled across his bed, making out like the teenagers they'd been when last they'd done this. But as they'd found themselves wearing fewer and fewer items of clothing, Auggie had found himself thinking about Tash. Tash, who was almost certainly in a federal prison right now. Tash, who was the last woman he'd been with. Tash, who'd trusted him. Tash, whom he'd failed to protect. He'd forcefully pushed back the memories, but found he'd overshot the mark when Helen's face flashed across his mind's eye. His wife. His dead wife. _I'm not ready for this_, he'd thought, and made a move to pull away. But Megan's mouth against his, her body against his, were insistent. He didn't want to let her down.

So he'd squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on the moment he was in. As he did so, his body had obliged. He'd been worried that being with a woman blind would be different, less satisfying perhaps, because of the lack of visual stimuli. But it turned out he hadn't needed to worry. His 4 remaining senses had caught fire, delivering a rapid stream of sensory details that he'd never imagined would be so arousing. Touch, hearing, smell, taste - they'd all jumped at the chance to fill in for sight, if anything overwhelming Auggie in a way he'd never experienced relying only on his eyes. Besides, it'd dawned on him that bed partners weren't usually staring at one another. If the lights weren't off, their eyes were closed for much of the experience. It was a little creepy _not_ to close your eyes, in fact. Auggie had known it must've gotten dark by that point, and Megan hadn't to his knowledge turned on a light in the apartment. With Megan's eyes almost certainly closed, they'd been practically on equal footing.

But just as Auggie had turned the corner on his own doubts, Megan had pulled away and he'd heard her try to muffle a sob. His hand rose gently to her cheek, which he'd discovered was wet with tears. _How long had she been crying?_ "Megan..." he'd called softly, lifting himself off her and lying on the pillow facing what was now her back turned to him.

He hadn't been sure what she wanted in that moment, what she needed. So he'd just placed his palm in the valley between her shoulder blades and listened to her cry.


	55. Chapter 55

08.14.08

Megan's soft, steady breathing told Auggie she was still sleeping. He kind of couldn't believe how easily she'd fallen asleep, and how soundly she'd remained that way. In television and movies, new lovers were always waking up from a sound post-coital slumber with well-rested grins and perfect makeup. In reality, Auggie had always found it difficult to share a bed with a woman_ (_for _sleeping_, that is). Having another body in his bed felt extra strange to him now, since he'd been single so much longer than was normal for him. He'd gotten sleep in small intervals throughout the night, waking often when Megan would move or sigh. At one point, she'd gotten up to use the restroom, but had returned to the bed after only a minute and was out again shortly thereafter. Auggie envied her ability to do that.

But to be honest, he'd been worried that he'd have a nightmare and freak Megan out...or worse. The nightmares had become less and less frequent, but they still happened. He'd heard stories of vets coming home and attacking their wives or girlfriends in their sleep, and he was terrified of hurting her. Especially with what she'd shared with him the night before, it was probably better if he didn't rest too deeply.

So he'd dozed off and on, wondering what time it was each time he woke. But his watch was in the bathroom; he knew he just needed to get in the habit of wearing it all the time, but he'd never been a watch guy and it was hard for him to remember. And he didn't dare use the alarm clock's talk button. That'd be a hell of a thing for Megan to wake up to, he thought with a small smile, another woman's voice loudly announcing the time.

Suddenly Megan's breathing changed and he felt her shift in the bed next to him.

"Hey," she said, her voice raspy from disuse.

"Hey," he replied, shifting to face her.

"What time is it?" she wondered.

"You tell me." He pointed over her head to indicate the alarm clock on the nightstand behind her.

He heard her turn. "Oh my gosh," she groaned. "It's 7 o'clock."

He was surprised by her tone. "You in a hurry to get somewhere?"

"No, it's not that. It's just...I just crashed your _life_ last night."

Auggie chuckled. "No, you didn't."

"I did."

"It was nice."

"'Nice?' I blue-balled you," she wailed apologetically, and Auggie laughed out loud. A cold shower _had_ sounded pretty good for an hour or so after she'd halted the forward progress of their night. But he'd gone a long time without it; he knew he could go longer.

"I'm sorry I kinda threw a lot at you there," she said quietly. Then, "I told you I was a Lifetime Movie. This one: Girl moves back to her hometown and meets up with her first love, only to end up weeping like a psycho the minute they hit the sheets."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," he responded. "It's not the first time you've been a psycho." He heard her inhale sharply and imagined a look of indignation on her face: brown eyes wide with shock, lips forming an "O."

"What - " she sputtered.

"I'm recalling a night at Dan Spencer's house when you slapped me because...well, actually, I don't remember why."

It was Megan's turn to laugh out loud. "Oh my goodness, I'd forgotten that! Hm...you were talking to another girl, I think."

"Sounds about right," Auggie acknowledged with a nod and a grin.

They both chuckled over their shared past, and then lay there in a relaxed silence. After a minute, Megan spoke again. "I really am sorry. I don't know what came over me last night. I, I, I'm just in a weird headspace right now. And seeing you brought back so many great memories. But...I just couldn't. I'm not ready. I'm so sorry," she repeated.

"Hey," he objected. "Stop. Don't worry about it."

"Thank you for being so sweet to me. For taking care of me," she said meekly. "I'm sorry I'm so screwed up."

"We all got bruises," he said quietly. "Besides, it was kinda nice not to be the one who needed taking care of for once."

"What was it like?" she asked out-of-the-blue.

"What was what like?" he responded, perplexed.

"Being in Iraq, getting - " she stopped mid-sentence, and they both froze. Someone was walking up the stairs to his apartment. "Are you expecting someone?" she whispered frantically, and he could hear her fumble with the bedclothes, presumably to cover herself. She wasn't wearing anything but a bra and underwear.

"Not that I know of," he answered tensely, patting the comforter in search of his shirt.

"Here," she said, pressing the shirt against his shoulder.

"You put it on," he commanded, grabbing it and handing it back to her.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Just then the door flew open wide. "Rise and shine, Birthday Boy! Time to hit the water!"

Auggie felt the wetsuit thump onto his bed, as Andy realized what he'd just walked into. Or what it looked like he'd walked into, anyway.

"Oh dude, I'm sorry," he backtracked. "Yikes," he muttered as he swiftly shut the door.

Auggie dropped his head into his hands and he and Megan exhaled twin groans. "I'm so sorry about that. I forgot we're training this morning."

"Training?" she sounded surprised. "For what?"

"Chicago Triathlon," he answered as he got out of bed and felt for his pants, which he found on the floor by his desk.

"The triathlon? And today is your birthday? It's the 14th already?"

"Yep."

"Well, you're full of surprises this morning," she remarked.

Auggie laughed.

"The tattoo is new, too," she added. "I like it - it's sexy."


	56. Chapter 56

08.14.08

After Andy's embarrassing intrusion, Megan and Auggie had gotten up and dressed quickly. Auggie threw the wetsuit over his shoulder and followed Megan to the door. Opening the door, Megan abruptly stopped and Auggie bumped into her from behind.

"He's right down there," she hissed, referring to Andy.

Auggie just chuckled and moved around her to take the lead, opening his cane in the process. "Morning, Andy," he greeted his brother as he got to the bottom of the stairs.

"Morning, Auggie...Megan," Andy replied, and Auggie could hear the amusement in his voice. "I didn't recognize your car," he explained to Megan. "Otherwise I wouldn't have barged in."

"Yeah. Sorry," she responded in a small voice.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Andy assured. "Good to see you, by the way."

"You too," Megan said distractedly, and then turned to Auggie. "So, I'm gonna go. I'll call you later."

"Sounds good," Auggie stated casually, knowing Andy was watching the whole interaction. They hugged briefly, and then he heard her walk to her car. He waved as she started the car and backed out, then shoved his hands into his pockets. Waving still seemed like the polite thing to do, even though he couldn't see if she'd waved back. A moment later, Andy was at his side, brushing his arm with his own, and the brothers headed into the garage to pick up the rest of their gear.

"So..." Andy began as they kicked off their shoes and began the process of getting into their tri suits and wetsuits on opposite sides of Jan's parked SUV. Auggie groaned. Still, he took a moment to imagine if it had been Mike who walked in on him and Megan, and shuddered at the ruckus that would have ensued. "I didn't realize Megan was back in G-Coe."

Auggie shook his head, "I didn't either, actually. Ran into her at Glencoe Roast yesterday afternoon."

"Interesting," Andy drawled.

Auggie snorted. "Yeah, I'll bet you're real interested."

He could tell Andy wanted to ask more, but didn't want to be rude. _How things had changed._ When he and Megan had first started hanging out, as gawky 14 year olds the summer before they'd started high school, Auggie's brothers hadn't shut up about it. Andy, Mike, and Tim had all found it _hilarious_ that their baby brother was "dating." There'd been a whole lot of catcalls, smooching sounds, and K-I-S-S-I-N-G jokes over those three months. Now, Andy was a husband and a father, and he was waiting patiently for Auggie to share. Auggie decided to reward his maturity by not stonewalling him.

"I don't think she's back permanently," he explained, still skirting the real information his brother was after. "She's in town to help her grandma. She's actually getting divorced."

"Whoa," Andy commented, surprised.

"I know."

"I didn't know she'd gotten married."

"Join the club."

"You sure you wanna be involved in that? Get in the middle of a divorce?"

Auggie abruptly stopped zipping up his wetsuit. He hadn't really thought through the implications of what he and Megan had done (_well, almost done_) the night before. He felt a little embarrassed about that. The fact that Andy was bringing it up, and he didn't have an answer for him, made him uncomfortable. Why hadn't that crossed his mind? It wasn't like him not to consider every angle of a situation, and he worried his spy skills were slipping. After all, she was in the middle of a messy divorce from a pretty scary guy.

Auggie finished zipping his wetsuit and met Andy at the garage door. "I didn't have a master plan, Andy. Like I said, I just ran into her."

"Literally?" Andy ribbed, and Auggie shoved him lightly.

"No, not literally, smartass," Auggie retorted, and they walked down the stone staircase until their feet hit sand.

When Mel had laid down the law in May, the first item Auggie had attempted to check off her list was the part about getting back into shape. He'd approached Andy, who had some time off between sports seasons, about the possibility of running a race together. He was thinking a 10K, maybe, hoping the competitive aspect would keep him motivated. But Andy had gotten excited about the idea, and a day later had come back to Auggie with the suggestion that they do the Chicago Triathlon in August. Auggie had been less than enthusiastic, but Andy said Kim had a personal trainer friend who'd guided a couple of blind athletes through triathlons, and assured Auggie it could be done.

So they'd approached Kim's friend, and he'd given them the scoop on how to train for, and compete in, the race as a team. Andy and Auggie would be tethered at the waist for the swim and the run, and ride a tandem for the cycle leg. Oh, and they'd need to start training immediately, since doing a race with two people in perfect synchronization was even harder than it sounded. _Great. _

Since late May, they'd been running together 3 to 4 times a week, Auggie hitting the treadmill on days when neither Kim nor Andy could make it to Glencoe. And they'd found a loaner bike through a blind triathlete organization in Seattle. It had been surprisingly difficult to master the bike. _How hard could it be, right?_ But cadence and communication were crucial, and it had taken a couple weeks for them to feel comfortable at cruising speed.

But the swim? The swim was still a little daunting. Andy and Auggie had started off swimming in the pool at Michigan Shores Club to get their rhythm down. Growing up on a lake, Auggie and Andy were both strong swimmers, and Auggie had lifeguarded every summer in high school at the country club for extra cash. But swimming in open water, blind, had been a different animal entirely. They'd been making regular forays into Lake Michigan for the past month, but Auggie still felt apprehensive each time they did. Floating in water was disorienting and a little freaky, and the water in his ears made him effectively blind _and_ deaf for most of the swim.

The two men reached the water's edge and Andy put one end of the tether in Auggie's palm.

"You ready, little brother?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."


	57. Chapter 57

08.24.08

Mel had been expectantly surveying the stream of runners at the finish line for 20 minutes when she finally spotted them: Auggie and Andy. She chuckled to herself, thinking the duo sounded like an old-timey radio show or something. She watched them cross the finish line, unhook their tether, then slow to a walk before doubling over to catch their breath. She made her way quickly toward them, and was inhaling the air necessary to call out to her favorite soldier, when a whirl of blonde hair and tan skin came from the right of her field of vision. A beautiful woman in a flowy sea-green sundress threw herself into Auggie's arms, covering his surprised face with kisses.

Mel's eyes flew wide, and she felt a brief, irrational stab of jealousy. _That's not how you hug a blind person_, she thought pettily. But the absurd jealousy was immediately followed by contrition, as she turned around to grab Chris's hand. He'd been a few steps behind her, and as she took in his warm smile and joyful green eyes, she reminded herself that this was the Anderson brother she was with. And happily so. Besides, as they turned together and continued their forward progress, Mel could see that Auggie was matching the woman's enthusiasm, kiss for kiss. _You dog_, she smiled, this time with no weirdly possessive undertone. Well, good for him. Auggie deserved some happiness after what he'd been through in the last 8 months.

"Hey, soldier," Mel announced as they drew near, and Auggie broke off the kiss he was in the middle of to look in her direction with an exhausted but blissful grin. She was sure she also detected a bit of embarrassment in there, too, and figured Auggie hadn't realized he'd had an audience.

"Melanie."

"August."

The two embraced, and now it was the blonde woman's turn to watch uncomfortably. Mel caught her confused look out of the corner of her eye, and wished she could assure her right then that she wasn't a threat. But Auggie wasn't releasing Mel, so she relaxed into his sweaty embrace and hugged him back, hard. "You were killer out there," she whispered and was rewarded with the rumble of his laughter, communicated through his chest directly into her own. As she released him, she wryly observed the look of shock on Auggie's kiss-attacker's face that she'd grown accustomed to over the years: It was hot and she was wearing a white racerback tank top and fashionably-tattered denim shorts.

The rest of the Anderson clan surrounded the two drained men, back-slapping and trash-talking and high-fiving. Mel observed Jan standing off to the side. She was wiping her cheeks and, Mel could tell, hoping her large designer sunglasses were hiding the fact that she was crying. Alan wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. Then, they both caught sight of the blonde woman.

"Megan?" Jan asked in obvious wonder, running to her and hugging her. The two women giggled and jumped up and down like schoolgirls, and Mel was suddenly dying to know the story behind that. She caught Chris's eye as he finished congratulating his brothers and nodded subtly at Megan, a look on her face that said, _What's that all about? _

"Megan Phillips," Chris whispered into Mel's ear as he came to stand beside her once more. "I have no idea what she's doing here, but she and Auggie used to date in high school."

Mel nodded her head, amused to recall a time when she expected Auggie might hook up with an old flame once he was back in his hometown. "From the looks of it, they're at it again," she murmured back. Chris groaned, clearly not interested in talking with her about what his little brother might or might not be doing with Megan.

Kim stepped forward then, a sleeping Katie tucked into the carrier on her chest, and embraced Andy and Auggie as well as she could with the slumbering baby between them. Mike was next, pawing and slapping at his brothers as he teased and joked with them. To everyone's surprise and delight, Mike, who only lived a few miles away, had brought a girl with him. Mel struggled to remember the exotic brunette's name. She vaguely recalled that it was something ultra-hip and androgynous, like Hunter or Tanner. _Or maybe Cobbler_, she thought and snorted to herself, imagining the woman's parents searching through a baby name book that consisted solely of medieval professions. But she immediately felt bad for it; the girl was nice, weird name notwithstanding.

The boys were interested in their time, so the whole group made its way over to the results tent. Discovering they had completed the race in just over an hour and a half, the hooting and hollering started up again. It was an extremely respectable time, especially considering their special circumstances. The men regaled the family with the story of how, about a minute into the swim start, two other swimmers had forced their way between them, disconnecting their tether in the process. Andy laughed as he explained that Auggie hadn't even noticed; meanwhile, _he'd_ been terrified. Luckily, it had only taken a few seconds to locate his oblivious brother, and they'd reconnected the tether with no issue.

The men in the family laughed uproariously, but Mel saw Jan noticeably blanch. Jan didn't say anything, though, and Mel considered what a great mom she was, how she'd struck the exact right balance with Auggie, between helping him when he needed it and letting him be the grown man he was when he didn't. She caught her eye and gave her a warm smile. Jan returned it and walked over to Mel. She grabbed her hand and just stood beside her for a moment, and Mel sensed she was trying to regain her composure. When she had, she turned to Mel and pushed her sunglasses back into her hair.

"Thank you," she said simply, with tear-filled eyes. Mel knew better than to ask what for. Though she didn't feel like it was fair for her to take credit for Auggie's victory, she knew Jan needed this moment. So she nodded once and squeezed Jan's hand. "Glad you and Chris could make it," Jan appended with a little sideways smile, and Mel beamed. She started to mentally plan the conversation she'd have with Chris later, where she intended to crow about how "in" she was with his mother. Chris had met her parents just a few days earlier, and Mel's mom, Maria, had been absolutely smitten with him. He'd been obnoxiously _un_-humble about it in private, and she relished giving him his comeuppance.

As the family started to talk about getting out of there and heading for brunch somewhere in the city, a burly man whom Mel guessed was maybe in his forties strode up and clapped Auggie on the back. Auggie jumped, and Mel shook her head. Your average sighted person had no idea how startling that kind of thing was for a blind person.

"Auggie! I can't believe it! Did you do the race?" he demanded, in awe.

"Well, I didn't come to watch it," he joked back. Then, he reached across his chest and tapped the black numbers written in grease pen on his left bicep. "Hey Jeff, how are you man?"

Jeff sputtered, clearly taken aback. "I'm impressed, that's how I am," he responded.

Auggie just smirked, obviously pleased with himself.

Jeff paused a moment, and then charged forward. "School year's starting up at GHP in a couple weeks, you know."

Auggie looked confused. "Sure, okay."

"I'm looking for an assistant coach."

Mel watched Auggie's eyebrows raise, as he asked, "For what?"

"What do you mean, for what? For wrestling."

Auggie's mouth dropped open, as he appeared to search for the words he wanted to say.

"Hey man, I don't mean to drop this on you. Take a few days, call me when you're ready to talk about it. You've got my number, yeah?"

"Yeah," Auggie replied, still a little stunned.

"All right, I gotta go find Anna," the older man remarked, and abruptly took off.

Mel rolled her eyes once again, noting that Auggie was now stranded in what O&M instructors like herself referred to as "free space," since he hadn't yet retrieved his cane and the rest of the family had drifted away toward their cars. As she watched the worry bloom on Auggie's face, she stepped up beside him.

"I got your back, soldier," she said quietly and offered a lead.

Auggie broke into a relieved smile.

"Yeah, you do."


	58. Chapter 58

**From: **"Anderson, August" [aanderson80]**  
Date:** December 8, 2008 2:37:02 PM CST**  
To:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]**  
Subject: Can I borrow your eyes?**

Need a little favor.

- A

* * *

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Date:** December 8, 2008 6:19:23 PM CST  
**To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Subject:** **Re: Can I borrow your eyes?**

Of course. What's up?

Mel

* * *

**From: **"Anderson, August" [aanderson80]**  
Date:** December 8, 2008 10:18:54 PM CST**  
To:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]**  
Subject: Re: Can I borrow your eyes?  
Attachments: **_Photo 1 (jpeg)_**  
**

Ran across the digital camera I had with me in Iraq. There's only one picture on it I'm interested in. Should be the last one I took, but I need to be sure. I'm attaching it.

Describe it to me, would you?

- A

* * *

**From:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]  
**Date:** December 9, 2008 7:34:19 AM CST  
**To:** "Anderson, August" [aanderson80]  
**Subject:** **Re: Can I borrow your eyes?**

Total sausage fest. Buncha half-naked GIs trying not to look like they're flexing. You're on the far right.

Nice abs, by the way.

Mel

* * *

**From: **"Anderson, August" [aanderson80]**  
Date:** December 9, 2008 8:38:10 AM CST**  
To:** "Lopez, Melanie" [malopez]**  
Subject: Re: Can I borrow your eyes?**

Thanks.

- A


	59. Chapter 59

_December 13th, 2008_

_Dear Mr. & Mrs. Rowland, and Parker,_

I'm sorry this letter is so late. I hate that you might have thought I didn't care, _that Billy hadn't meant enough to me to write you back. Nothing could be further from the truth. The truth is, Billy was a great friend, a brother in many ways. I still think about him every day. And I've agonized over when and what I should write to his family._

I can't give you many details, but here's what I can tell you about the day Billy died serving his country: We'd spent the morning playing football. We'd even listened to a little Mingus. He was happy. He was with men he trusted, men he called his friends, and I was privileged to be among them. There were other losses that day, but it's important for me to tell you that Billy was the first man down, and it was quick. I say that so you'll know that he wasn't expecting it, wasn't afraid, didn't suffer. Yet, he knew he was going somewhere dangerous, somewhere death might show up. He went anyway, to protect the country he loved and the people he loved there. And for that, he's a hero.

I was the lone survivor that day, but I was blinded in the same incident that took Billy's life. I was still in the hospital when Billy's memorial was held; that's why I never responded. 

_I consider myself lucky. I've wondered a million times why my life was spared when so many better men lost theirs. Men like Billy. I have no answer. I don't consider it fair that my family got me back, while yours got a flag-draped coffin._

I'm so sorry. I wish I could've saved him.

Please let me know if there's anything else I can do for you. 

_Sincerely,_

_Auggie Anderson_

_p.s. The picture I'm enclosing was taken on the day Billy died, the day I lost my sight. I thought you might appreciate a copy. If nothing else, I hope that the relaxed and happy look on Billy's face, still crisp and vivid in my mind, comforts you. For me, it's the only thing I have from the war that seems pure, almost like it was from a time of peace instead..._


	60. Chapter 60

12.20.08

Auggie lifted the lid off the saucepan and inhaled the aroma rising out of it. He was considering whether or not to add more garlic, when Megan's hands slid over his hips and she wrapped her arms around him from behind. He smiled, enjoying the feeling of her soft body pressed up against his.

"Bad things happen when you distract a blind cook," he warned in a low, teasing voice, turning around to face her. He drew her arms up so that her hands clasped behind his neck, and ran his hands down to her hips. He let his fingers slip under her sweater and drew them over what he'd always thought of as "the onion," that delicious spot in the center of a woman's lower back where the muscles of her back converged just over the rise of her...

"Oh, shit!" Auggie exclaimed, hearing the splash of water onto the stovetop behind him. He laughed as he felt for the knob and turned it until it was set at the two tactile dots that Auggie knew would produce a low-grade boil for the pasta he was about to pour into the large pot. Jan had been extremely gracious in allowing Auggie to adapt the space to his needs: Her once-immaculate gourmet kitchen was now, Auggie was sure, visibly marred by strange adhesive dots and dashes and braille labels all over her Wolf stove, KitchenAid microwave, and the contents of her Sub-Zero refrigerator. It hardly seemed like the appropriate space for a blind man to learn to cook, but it was what was available.

Besides, this was technically homework; along with instruction in Braille and independent living, Auggie had been taking cooking classes at Hadley since July. He'd never been interested in cooking before, and he'd signed up for the classes solely to work toward getting a place of his own. But he'd been surprised to discover that he liked it. As with sex, the experience of cooking and eating blind was maybe not better, but different and just as good. He'd learned to use his senses of smell and touch and taste to make up for his lack of sight, and he'd finally gotten to the point where he was ready to try cooking for someone else.

Megan had been the obvious choice, of course. Despite Andy's warning, and his own misgivings, he and Megan had been inseparable since late summer. It was just so easy, which of course had always been the case with them, had always been what kept them colliding back into one another. And with them both back in Glencoe, healing up from considerable losses, it was too hard to resist old patterns. Auggie wasn't 100% sure what they were doing was healthy, but _damn,_ it felt good. And Auggie was simply not willing to give up anything that felt good at this point in his life.

He added the pasta to the water that he now knew was boiling. Then he turned around to face Megan and pointed over her head, in the direction of the living room. "You. Wine. Music. Go," he commanded, shooing her out of the kitchen. He hadn't been joking; if she kept sidling up to him like that, he might actually burn the house down.

"Fine, fine," she pouted, playfully slapping his butt on her way out of the kitchen. "So like a man, to kick the woman out of the kitchen," she joked ironically, as he heard her footsteps cross the hardwoods. A minute later, the house was filled with the familiar strumming of an acoustic guitar. Megan was currently into some indie folk singer from Wisconsin whose songs were some of the saddest-sounding Auggie had ever heard. It wasn't normally the kind of thing Auggie would be into, but it was growing on him. It helped that it seemed to put Megan instantly in the mood. Auggie tried not to wonder what she was thinking about whenever she put the melancholy album on as the soundtrack to their foreplay.

Fifteen minutes later, dinner was ready. He insisted that Megan stay in the living room while he brought everything out and set it up. He even thought to light two tapers in crystal candle-holders, which he hoped would provide nice ambiance. He called her into the dining room.

"Oh, wow," Megan breathed. "Auggie, this looks so good."

"I'll take your word for it," he shrugged.

Over dinner, Auggie and Megan talked about the next afternoon, when they'd be leaving to drive the three hours to Door County to join Auggie's family for Christmas. They would have been up there already, if it weren't for the fact that Megan had a mediation in the city in the morning with Nate and their lawyers. Megan was scared of him, and just wanted out of the marriage as quickly and cleanly as possible. But when she'd left him, he'd immediately emptied all the money in their joint accounts, presumably funneling it to one of his own. Megan didn't want anything of his, but she'd received a $100,000 inheritance when her maternal grandmother had passed away 2 years before, and she needed that money to start over. Nate, predictably, was using it as leverage in a twisted game to win her back. Auggie wasn't sure how to help, so when she'd asked him to stay behind and distract her tonight, he'd immediately agreed. She'd drive them both up the next day. In the meantime, it was nice to be out of his tiny apartment and stretching their legs in the temporarily vacated big house.

After dinner, Megan insisted on helping Auggie with the dishes. He washed, she dried. As he handed her the last pot, he quickly scooped a handful of suds from the sink, then turned and blew them in her direction. She shrieked, and he knew he'd made a direct hit. But she was immediately out for vengeance and the kitchen quickly became a war zone of water, soap bubbles, and laughter.

In an attempt to put suds down Auggie's shirt, Megan grabbed the "v" of the neck and pulled it out. As she did, Auggie grabbed her around the waist and pulled her firmly into the front of himself, soaking them both. With the full frontal contact, suddenly the mood changed, and their mouths joined hungrily. Auggie crouched, never breaking from Megan's lips, and grasped her under her denim-clad thighs. He lifted her easily onto the granite top of the kitchen island and Auggie had a brief thought that this kind of thing only happened in film. He once again reached under her sweater, and his now exquisitely fine-tuned fingertips clearly perceived the goosebumps that rose underneath them, like a message of flaring desire written just for him, in human Braille.

But just as Auggie began to push her sweater up her torso in order to remove it, he heard from his right side the small click of the French door to the patio opening. He was instantly embarrassed; then he was alarmed. No one in his family was in town but him. He turned his head in the direction of the doors, but Megan hadn't yet realized anything was going on, and she used the opportunity to slide her tongue lightly down the left side of his neck. It was a move that she knew drove him crazy, but he hardly registered it now, as he felt the cold night air flow in around his ankles and heard the sounds of the lake beyond. There was no doubt; the back door was open.

"Megan," he muttered, untangling from her and standing straight. He barely had time to note the rapid footsteps coming at him before he felt the the explosion of pain in his jaw as an unknown attacker's fist firmly connected with it. He staggered backward, and found he couldn't get his footing on the soapy floor. He went down, and then felt a boot in his side. On the floor, having no sense of who his attacker was or where he was coming from, Auggie could only bring his hands up to protect his head and take the beating.

Megan was screaming.

"Nate, stop! Stop it! Stop! Please! Stop! He's blind!"


	61. Chapter 61

_A/N: This chapter may not be suitable for all readers. It may or may not fall under an "__**M**__" rating for "__**non-explicit **__suggestive adult themes, references to __**some **__**violence**__, or __**coarse **__**language**__." Nothing wildly different than what I've been writing, but I'm new to this, and I don't know for sure, so I want to err on the side of caution for some of my readers who may be more sensitive. If that's you, proceed with caution._

* * *

12.25.08

_"He's blind!" Megan had screamed. _

And Auggie found he couldn't stop fixating on it. Of all the things that had happened that night, that was the thing he couldn't stop thinking about. Of course, it had ended Nate's attack. He guessed he should feel grateful. But instead, he was furious. And hurt. And confused. _And humiliated_.

Megan lay next to him in bed, quietly sleeping, and he clutched the comforter in his fists in an attempt to redirect the rage that had been keeping him up at night since her soon-to-be-ex-husband had broken into his house five days earlier. Broken in and kicked the shit out of him.

Until...

_"He's blind!" Megan had screamed._

Auggie abruptly realized he couldn't lie there one more second, not without screaming at the ceiling himself. He felt for the shirt he'd carefully placed on the nightstand, grabbed his cane, and left the bedroom as quietly as he could. Once outside the room he and Megan were sharing in the vacation house the Andersons had rented for the holiday, he checked his watch: 3:15AM. _Merry freaking Christmas_.

He made his way downstairs to the living room, and began to pace from one end to the other, sweeping carefully the first time across to be sure none of Katie's toys made it under the bare soles of his feet. He clenched his teeth together, and the pain in his bruised jaw made him even angrier.

_"He's blind!" Megan had screamed._

Auggie slapped his cane harder than he needed to against the river rocks of the fireplace as he passed it for the third, fourth, fifth time. Eventually he lost count. Each time he swung the cane, he felt the pinch of the contused muscles in his side.

...

_"What?" Nate had panted, pausing his assault. He'd sounded so damn confused. _

_"Just stop it, Nate, stop it, please," Megan had sobbed hysterically. "He's blind, okay? He's blind. Leave him alone!"_

_Auggie had played possum on the slippery kitchen floor, head down and forearms up, reeling and disoriented and not trusting that the beating wouldn't resume._

_After a moment, he'd heard Nate's booted feet take several heavy steps back from where he'd been towering over Auggie._

_"I'm calling the cops if you don't get out of here right now!" she'd screamed at him._

_"You slut," Nate had spat at Megan, and the word had sent a jolt of electricity through Auggie. He'd brought his legs up under him, found purchase on the slick floor, and scrambled to his feet. His whole body felt like a live wire. If only he could pinpoint exactly where Nate's voice was coming from. If only he could get his hands on him._

_"Get out!" Megan had shrieked again, her voice thick with tears, anger, fear._

_"You're not getting a penny from me, you stupid tramp," Nate had seethed at her, and then he was gone. The freezing night air that had filled the kitchen was the only thing he'd left behind. That, and a bleeding Auggie._

_Megan had stood there crying. And Auggie couldn't bring himself to comfort her._

_..._

"Auggie? What the hell, man?" Chris's confused and sleepy voice came from across the living room.

Auggie's head snapped in his direction. "What?" he demanded, in a tone about a thousand times more hostile than made sense for the situation.

"Mel sent me out here," Chris explained through a yawn. "Said she's been listening to you thump around for the last 20 minutes."

"And she didn't want to deal with me herself?" Auggie challenged, feeling annoyed and insulted that Mel had apparently not been interested enough to come out on her own. She'd sent her _boyfriend_. Even if he was his brother, that was lame of her. After all, she'd been _his_ friend before she'd been Chris's girlfriend.

Chris exhaled contemptuously. "C'mon man, she doesn't have her legs on. Give her a break. What's up with you?"

Auggie ducked his head, chagrined. He was embarrassed to realize once again how little he understood the particular set of obstacles Mel dealt with every day. Especially when Chris was the one reminding him. He briefly tried to convince himself it was charming, that his slip-up was a result of him not seeing her that way, literally or figuratively. In reality, it was because he was once again too focused on his own pain, just as Mel had accused him of being in that DC hotel room. It also hadn't even occurred to him that Chris and Mel, sharing the ground-floor bedroom adjacent to the living room, might be disturbed by his nighttime wanderings. His _noisy_ nighttime wanderings. The word _myopic_ popped into his mind as a fair description of himself at the moment, and it would have made for a great blind joke if he'd been even remotely in the mood for some self-deprecating humor.

"This about that door frame that beat the crap out of you?" Chris asked quietly.

Auggie's head jerked up, and he narrowed his eyes in Chris's direction. "What?" he asked tightly, as he heard Chris approach. Without warning, Chris reached out and lightly flicked Auggie's bruised side. Auggie jumped and inhaled sharply. "Shit! What's your problem, Chris?" he spat.

Chris didn't say anything, but his fingers caught the hem of Auggie's t-shirt and drew it up quickly, revealing the marks underneath.

He whistled softly. "Auggie, don't tell me a door did that."

"Just let it go, Chris," Auggie warned, stepping away and twisting his shirt out of Chris's grasp.

"I am a doctor, you know."

"I already saw a doctor."

"You did?"

"Yeah."

"That's good," Chris commented mildly. "I don't know if you know this, but you're black and blue from your armpit to your hip."

"Yeah, I know," Auggie said, rolling his eyes. "However bad it looks, I can assure you it _feels_ worse." Then he sighed and swept his cane until it came into contact with one of the room's three couches. He sat, and heard Chris take a seat on the opposite couch.

"Bruise on your chin is fading, though," Chris remarked quietly. "What happened, man?"

Auggie lifted his hand and ran his fingers over the still-tender injury on the right side of his face. Megan had insisted on taking him to the ER after they were sure Nate had left the area. Before his injury, Auggie would have considered the suggestion ridiculous. But with his recent medical history, head wounds were no joke. Even though he resented it, he knew he needed to get checked out, just to be safe. It was good news: No broken bones, just a swollen face and boot prints up and down both his sides. Also, Nate was apparently left-handed and still wearing his wedding band, so Auggie had a nice notch on his jaw where the ring had broken the skin and spilled blood down the front of the shirt he'd been wearing. They hadn't discussed it beforehand on the 15-minute drive to the hospital, during which Megan had just mostly cried; but when the attending physician at Evanston Hospital had asked what had happened, Auggie had insisted vaguely that he'd run into a doorjamb. He was aware of what a red-flag excuse that was, seated as he was beside an actual battered wife, but he sure as hell wasn't going into the details of what had really happened. Megan had remained silent, so he figured she preferred the whole incident stay hush-hush, as well. The cover story had worked for his parents, too, when they'd arrived at the rental house the next day. _Hey, what's one more lie?_ Auggie thought acidly.

But Chris wasn't buying it now, not after seeing the full extent of the damage to Auggie's body. "Megan's ex," Auggie finally sighed.

"Oh, _shit_," Chris uttered. Auggie heard the couch creak and imagined Chris leaning forward, rapt.

"Yeah."

Chris was quiet, waiting.

"Megan and I were having dinner in the main house, night before we came up here," Auggie began. "We were in the kitchen, things were getting interesting...when the asshole just walked in the back door."

"And he attacked you?" Chris asked, astonished.

"Never saw it coming," Auggie remarked, with a bitter half-smile.

"Auggie, you need to call the police," Chris declared.

"No," Auggie responded sharply.

"Auggie - " Chris tried again.

"I'm not doing it, Chris. Forget it," Auggie snapped, then felt bad. He continued in a calmer voice, "He and Megan are in this messy divorce, and he's clearly a psychopath. We go to the police with this, he's gonna be out for blood." Auggie thoughtfully ran his fingers over the scabbed wound on his jaw. "More blood, anyway. Besides, his family's connected. He'd have some Johnny Cochran-type breathing down our necks if it went to trial. And I can't have someone motivated like that digging into my background," he concluded ominously. He knew Chris would know what he meant.

There was a long silence before Chris spoke again. "So, what has you up at - " Chris paused, and Auggie guessed he was scanning the room for a clock. Auggie flipped his wristwatch open and felt for the time.

" - 3:40AM on Christmas morning?" he supplied, completing Chris's thought. "Couldn't sleep."

"There any more to that story?" Chris pushed.

Auggie closed his eyes and let his head drop back onto the cushions behind him. "He wasn't gonna stop," he finally remarked cryptically.

Like John, Chris seemed to know that the best way to get Auggie talking was to shut up. He didn't say anything.

"He only let up because Megan screamed at him that I was blind." Auggie bit hard on his lower lip and shook his head. It hurt to say the words aloud. He heard Chris exhale through his teeth.

"Auggie," he said simply, compassionately.

"At first, I was angry. Why the hell would she say _that?_ I was _Special Forces_. I can take care of myself."

"I'm pretty sure you could kill me with your bare hands," Chris offered.

It was supposed to be a joke, but it only aggravated Auggie. "I'd have to find you first," he flared. "I was mad. But then I realized: In that kitchen that night, I had no idea what was happening. He didn't say a word, just walked in and clocked me. I went down hard and the only thing I could do was hope he got tired of beating the shit out of me before he did any real damage. I couldn't fight back; I didn't even know who he _was_, not until Megan started screaming his name, trying to get him to stop. I couldn't protect her; I couldn't even protect myself."

"And he only stopped when Megan told him you were blind?" Chris prompted after a moment.

"Yeah."

"And that bothers you?"

"_Yes_."

"Why?"

Auggie shot him a look of exasperation. What did he mean, _why?_ Had he not been listening? That was the frustrating thing about talking to Chris; he always wanted to know more, even after you thought you'd told him everything. But as Auggie sat there stewing, the words suddenly came to him: "I don't need anyone else fighting my battles. And I don't wanna be with someone who thinks of me as fundamentally weak _because_ I'm blind."

_Wow. There it was._

There was the reason that he and Megan hadn't had sex since that night. It wasn't, as he'd told her, because he felt awkward with his whole family sleeping in rooms around them, or because he was too sore from the attack. She'd approached him every night, clearly sensing that something was wrong, and trying to bridge the crevasse that was growing wider between them. It explained why he couldn't get far enough away from her in their shared bed, why he couldn't seem to relax anymore when he laid beside her, why he stayed up every night long after she'd fallen asleep, with his hands balled into fists, staring blindly at the darkness above him.

"That's some heavy stuff, little brother."

Auggie didn't respond, just sat there. He felt exposed by what he'd just admitted. It was uncomfortable, even with Chris, to be that vulnerable. He hadn't known he was going to say that out loud.

Chris got up from where he was sitting and walked to Auggie's couch, where he sat at the opposite end. "Well, Aug, I hate to tell you this, but you're probably gonna be fighting that battle the rest of your life. I think you get to choose how it changes you, though. It can make you resentful of everyone who underestimates you - and it would be a big underestimation, for sure. That would be a bummer for me to watch, but I'm not in your shoes, so I can't judge. Or, you can use the constant miscalculation of your abilities like nitrous oxide, some kind of superfuel that makes you go faster and farther than you would have without it."

Auggie snorted.

"What's funny?" Chris asked, sounding a little hurt that Auggie was laughing at his heartfelt speech.

"Your bedside manner kinda sucks, is all. I mean, I just bared my soul to you, and you gave me a driving metaphor."

"What's wrong with my metaphor?"

"I don't drive anymore, Chris."

"Oh," the single syllable fell out of Chris's mouth, and Auggie took a little bit of solace in knowing Chris was just as prone to lapses in his understanding of Auggie's life as Auggie was about Mel's.

"Don't worry about it, man," Auggie assured, reaching out and finding Chris's knee. He yawned then, grabbed his cane, and stood to go back to his room.

"I did wanna say one more thing, Aug," Chris spoke to Auggie's back just as he'd reached the foot of the stairs.

"What's that?" Auggie asked, turning around.

"Just that...I dunno. I guess I feel like you should think about what you can do, not what you can't do."

Auggie rolled his eyes. He'd heard this speech about a dozen times from various doctors, nurses, and family members already.

"No. Wait. Hear me out," Chris hurried, clearly sensing Auggie's lack of interest. He stood and Auggie heard him cross the room toward him as he spoke. "I mean, think about it: There're a million things I'll never be. I'll never be a racecar driver, I'll never be a competitive skier, I'll never sell a painting, I'll never walk on the moon. It goes on and on. I don't drive myself crazy thinking about the things I'll never do. Most people don't. But, with your situation, it's easy to get stuck in that mindset, thinking about stuff you can't do, or can't do anymore. I'll never be half as good as you at a thousand different things. I mean, it took you till about second grade till you were regularly whooping my ass in sports; you're hilarious and charismatic and the life of the party; you can do things with computers that I've only seen in movies. So I think it's just _utter bullshit_ for you, or _anyone you choose to be with_, to think about you as essentially limited by your disability. You're August _Freaking_ Anderson. And don't you _forget_ it." Chris accented the key words in his last phrases by jabbing his forefinger into Auggie's chest.

Auggie stood totally still, stunned by his brother's passionate declaration. That hadn't been the speech he'd been expecting.

Chris suddenly embraced Auggie fiercely, now speaking directly into Auggie's ear, "And I don't know who this son of a bitch ex of Megan's is, but that bastard is just lucky he didn't stay close long enough for you to get your hands on him. I got a feeling he'd never give a blind guy a break again."


	62. Chapter 62

_A/N: _

_1) I've been so overwhelmed by all the positive responses to this story. It being my first, I wasn't sure what to expect. You guys have been so, so kind. Thank you._

_2) Special acknowledgement goes out to **annielovesauggie**. I say totally without hyperbole that these chapters wouldn't have gotten written, nevermind published tonight, without a hearty helping of her encouragement and helpful ideas. (You're so awesome!)_

* * *

01.27.09

"All right, I'm gonna overhook you, and when I say so, you just sit down as fast and hard as you can, okay?" Auggie instructed.

"Yeah, okay," Ryan replied, breathing hard from the workout.

The two engaged. "Now push," Auggie coached. "You push, the other guy's gonna wanna push back. Nope, come in closer. You push from that far away, you're wasting a ton of energy," he corrected. "There ya go, yep. When I say so, you sit straight down. Not back. Straight down, okay?" He allowed Ryan to get fully into position. When he could feel that he was, Auggie gave the command. Ryan sat down quickly, and took Auggie with him.

"Go, go!" Auggie shouted, and the freshman wrestler spun him on the mat and pinned Auggie down against it.

"Nice," Auggie applauded as the boy leapt up and offered Auggie a hand. Ryan was ecstatic.

"I don't know why I never got that before! It's so easy!"

Auggie chuckled. "Yeah, everything's easy once you know what you're doing. Now hit the showers, Miller - you stink."

"Hey," Ryan laughed, pretending to be offended. "Thanks for staying late, Coach."

"Take me to my stuff and we'll call it even," Auggie suggested, and the teenager led him to the far wall of the gymnasium, where Auggie's cane and gym bag were lying on the floor. As Ryan left the gym, Auggie heard someone else enter.

"Good work today, Ryan," Jeff congratulated the boy. "Hey, Aug," he announced as he crossed the hardwoods to where Auggie was taking a long drink from his water bottle.

"Jeff, hey," replied Auggie, zipping up his bag and rising to stand. He held his folded cane under his arm as he strapped his watch back on.

"I hope you know you don't get overtime pay here," Jeff teased.

"Meh, it's not like I'm saving up for a new car or anything," Auggie shrugged, playing along.

Jeff snorted. "Speaking of, you wanna lift home?"

"I can take the bus," Auggie objected.

"Auggie, just let me give you the ride," Jeff sighed in exasperation.

Auggie laughed. "You think I never let you give me a ride because of some misguided blind man pride. When really, it's because your taste in music is appalling."

Jeff chortled. "Hey, I just play whatever Anna has in the CD player," he defended.

"Yeah, and the fact that you're still listening to CDs just proves my point," Auggie shook his head as he extended his cane.

"Well, then ride with me and use your doohicky thing and educate me."

"My doohicky thing?"

"Your i-Whatchamacallit."

"...Pod? My iPod?"

"Yeah. That."

"I think you're beyond my help, Jeff. But yeah, okay, I'll ride with you," Auggie acquiesced good-naturedly.

The two men made their way out to the school's parking lot. It was freezing, but the winter air felt good against Auggie's sweaty skin. He'd been assistant coaching the wrestling team at his alma mater since late October. Initially, Jeff's idea was to have Auggie work with the older guys, juniors and seniors. Auggie had the chops to coach at the highest level of collegiate wrestling, and some of them were hoping to get scholarships. But it was a surprise to both Jeff and Auggie that Auggie had also found a niche with the youngest, least experienced team members. It wasn't that Auggie wasn't good with the more experienced wrestlers, and he did spend most of his time helping them refine their already advanced skills. But he also had a knack for explaining things to nervous newbies in a way that made the light bulb over their heads come on. More often than not, he ended up staying a half hour past the end of practice to work with one or more of the younger guys on basic stuff.

Jeff placed Auggie's hand on the hood of the car as they arrived at the vehicle, and the two men got in.

"Ugh," Auggie literally winced as Jeff turned the key in the ignition, and the car's interior filled with the auto-tuned warble of some teen pop star.

"Line in?" Auggie held out his hand expectantly.

"Huh?" Jeff grunted.

"You have a line in, right?"

"What's that?"

Auggie groaned. "You ever use an iPod in this car before?"

"No. What's a line in?" Jeff repeated.

"Forget it," Auggie shook his head and put the iPod back into his gym bag. "Just turn this off before my ears start bleeding. I need them functional."

Jeff obediently shut off the radio, and silence filled the car. They drove a couple blocks like that, then Jeff cleared his throat. "Haven't seen Megan around lately," he commented, clearly trying to sound casual, and not succeeding at all.

"She moved to the city," Auggie answered his unasked question. And it was true; she had. She'd gotten away from the makeup counter at Nordstrom a few months earlier, and into personal shopping. Jan had sent her all her well-to-do lady friends, and some higher-up had taken notice. In early January, she'd been offered a position in designer collections at the Michigan Ave store and had decided to move to be closer to work. She was making good money, and she was now thinking she'd go back to school for fashion design. But she and Nate had yet to finalize their divorce, and she was losing hope she'd ever see her inheritance. So she was working her ass off to save up.

But his answer to Jeff's question was still a cop-out, a half-truth. Because, even if Megan hadn't moved, she still wouldn't have been picking Auggie up from wrestling practices anymore, not like she had been.

"Huh," Jeff clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I thought you two mighta rekindled something."

"We did."

"But?"

"But you're kinda nosy for a boss."


	63. Chapter 63

01.27.09

As Auggie walked into his apartment, he set his stuff down and immediately checked his watch: 6:45PM. _Damn_. He hadn't meant to stay that late at practice. But he couldn't just walk away from Ryan. Still, he had a lot of work to do, so he guessed he'd be burning the midnight oil that night. He reached into his mini-fridge and grabbed a cold bottle of water and the sandwich he'd put in there earlier for his dinner. Retrieving the small, metal funnel he kept on top of the fridge, and a packet of powdered mix, he quickly made himself an energy drink to keep himself alert.

He sat at his desk, flipped open his laptop, and accessed his iTunes library. When he'd started coding again, last summer, he'd initially missed listening to music while he worked. As a teenager, and then at Stanford, he'd listened almost exclusively to loud, angry music when he was deep in programming mode. The aggressive mood of the music helped him focus and stay awake. But these days, he needed his ears to fill in for his eyes as he typed, and he couldn't hear the real-time feedback over his previously preferred style of music. Yet, working in silence drove him a little batty. So, out of desperation, one night he'd put on the one Mingus album he'd owned at the time, the one Billy had insisted he buy when they were in Iraq together. He'd hardly listened to it, save when a track would jump onto the shuffle mix of his iPod.

To Auggie's surprise, the instrumental jazz didn't interfere with the voice-over feedback coming through his headphones like music with lyrics would have. Even more remarkable, Auggie had immediately noticed subtle changes in the way he programmed. His hacking style throughout his youth had been brash and loud and single-minded...like his music. However, with the nuanced jazz washing over him as he typed, he was becoming a different kind of hacker: smooth, dynamic, persuasive. Instead of crashing destructively through firewalls, with no back-up plan, trusting only his ability to back out fast if he found trouble; he now looked for the chink in the armor, the Achilles' heel, the back entrance. He was a ghost in the machine.

He was evolving, and he knew it was more than the music. Since his injury, he'd had to start thinking differently in almost every aspect of his life. He wasn't just a computer hacker anymore; he was a _life_ hacker. Constantly forced to find the work-arounds he'd never needed when he could see, his brain was changing. He smiled faintly as he considered this strange upside to his blindness, imagined his neural networks re-routing and growing and making novel connections. He'd never have asked for it, but now that it had fallen into his lap, he'd take it.

He'd just started to relax into a rhythm, the throaty thrum of Dave Holland's double bass syncing with his keystrokes, when he heard the familiar chiming tone that indicated he was receiving a text message through his computer. Only a few people knew how to use their phones to send him messages this way, and he was pretty sure he knew who it was. He pinched the bridge of his nose and selected the message. The halting humanoid voice read the message aloud to him:

_Text message received from __**Megan**__: "Hi. I miss you. How are you?_"

He closed the text box immediately, and tried to keep working. Ten minutes later, the chime came again:

_Text message received from __**Megan**__: "I wish you'd talk to me."_

Auggie groaned in frustration. He didn't have time for this right now. Not when he was so close. Things had gotten decidedly weird between them after Christmas, and he'd been flat-out ignoring Megan's calls and texts since she'd moved to Chicago a few weeks earlier. But he was starting to feel like an asshole. He'd always had a reputation as a bit of a player, but he'd never cheated and he'd never intentionally hurt any of the women he'd been involved with. He knew he was hurting Megan now, but he couldn't bring himself to respond.

The night that Nate had attacked Auggie had been an awakening for him on multiple levels. Frustrating realizations about his own abilities, furious anger at Nate, and sharp disappointment in Megan - those were only the top layer. Beneath that, Auggie had realized that Megan was a huge distraction. Before she came along, he'd had a plan, one that he'd been spending long hours every day working on. But he'd put it all on the backburner when he and Megan had gotten back together. He suspected it had to do with the fear he felt every time he considered the very real possibility that he'd fail. If he thought about it too much, it became so palpable it twisted his stomach into knots. Which he'd rarely had to do when he'd been with Megan, and that had been precisely why he'd spent every waking (and sleeping, actually) moment with her. He and Megan had a pattern that way, and he knew she had gotten something out of their arrangement too, but it still made him feel like a terrible person. It was time to stop using her, time to get to work.

He paused his rapid typing for a moment, pondering the incredible amount of work he'd gotten done in just the 3 weeks since Megan had been gone. Every line of code was a step closer to his old life. _Yeah, it had been the right decision._

He began to type again.


	64. Chapter 64

01.28.09

Auggie pushed through the doors of the school and stepped into the cold January air. He was in a good mood; his Braille instructor had just finished telling him that he'd never seen anyone master the language so quickly. Auggie was now reading and writing fluently in contracted Braille, something that had seemed like a pipe dream just a year ago.

As he came to the end of the walkway that led to and from the building's front doors, he turned crisply to his left to follow Elm toward his Union Pacific stop. He knew the route so well, he usually allowed his mind to wander a bit on the short trip. Today, however, he found himself distracted by the sound of footsteps behind him. Someone on the sidewalk behind him was obviously not usually cause for alarm, or even worthy of his attention. But these footfalls sounded...familiar. The thought seemed crazy, even to himself, but there it was.

Well, there was at least one way to suss out whether or not he was just being paranoid. Auggie suddenly drew up short, and crouched down. He listened carefully as he pretended to tie his shoe: Nothing. _Hm, had he imagined it? _As he stood and continued forward, however, he heard the footsteps start up behind him once again. _Bingo_.

He wasn't worried. Yet. For all he knew, it could be some old Glencoe acquaintance who had recognized him but was being too shy to come up and announce him or herself right away. It had happened before. But for whatever reason - call it his Spidey sense - he didn't think that was it.

As he got closer to the sounds of traffic at the intersection of Elm and Lincoln, he abruptly decided to take a right instead of the left he needed to get to his train. He crossed, and his shadow crossed with him. He got halfway down the block before pretending to realize he'd gone the wrong way. He had to be sure he was really being tailed; it would be supremely embarrassing to confront some poor local business patron if he were wrong.

But he wasn't wrong, because when he turned, the steps once again stopped. As he walked briskly toward where he'd last heard them, they moved out of the way, to his left, against the wall of the building. Passing the spot, Auggie heard a sound, a whisper of a sound really, that sent a jolt through his body that he only barely stopped from becoming a visible shudder. The feet followed him once more.

But Auggie came to a stop before he reached the intersection, turned to his left, and used his cane to find the wrought-iron chairs of the small cafe that he'd eaten lunch at many times after class in the preceding months. He pulled one out, then another, but didn't sit.

He turned to face his not-so-mysterious follower, and smiled. He hoped he was right about the person's identity. If not, this would be really awkward. _Nothing risked, nothing gained,_ he thought to himself, and then he spoke:

"Joan. What brings you to Glencoe?"


	65. Chapter 65

01.28.09

Joan audibly gasped, which only made Auggie smile wider. _Nailed it_.

"I realize I'm a little easier to tail these days, but I'm not a total amateur, you know," he remarked as he removed his messenger bag and sat down. He disassembled his cane and used it to gesture to the second chair he'd pulled out. Still not saying anything, Joan's heels clicked over to it and she took a seat.

"I'm not even going to ask how you did that," she managed, obviously still recovering from the shock of being discovered.

"Good. Because I wouldn't have told you that the sounds of the charms on that necklace gave you away," Auggie smirked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs so that one ankle rested on the opposite knee.

He heard the faint sound of the tinkling charms once more, and he guessed she'd brought a hand up to her throat when he'd mentioned it.

"That's...remarkable," she stuttered, and Auggie began to tap his folded cane lightly against his knee. He hoped Joan wouldn't recognize it as the anxious gesture it was. At the moment, Auggie felt a little like a trout fisherman who'd unexpectedly snagged a marlin. He'd fantasized about a meeting like this, sure, but the reality of it actually happening left his mind spinning and his nerves jangled. He couldn't begin to guess why she was here, or what she was after. He had _hopes_. But he'd learned to keep those in check.

He listened to Joan take a steadying breath. _She's nervous, too,_ he thought, and the idea puzzled him. He wondered if she thought he was still angry at her. For the record, he wasn't. He felt like a totally different person from the broken man he'd been the last time he'd met with her.

"Auggie, I'm here on official business," she started. Auggie squinted in her direction. "Officially," she repeated, "I'm here because I wanted to be the one to tell you that we've confirmed that Afran Falad Khani is dead."

Auggie was baffled. "Who?"

"Oh," Joan amended. "That's right." She paused. "You would have known him as Nasir al-Shirazi."

Auggie's blood ran cold. He hadn't thought of the man for months now, not since his last nightmare. He exhaled with a shudder and sat forward to lean his forearms on the small round table between them. "How? Who? When - "

"Auggie, you know I can't tell you that," Joan cut in. "But I knew you'd want to know, and I felt very strongly that I should be the one to tell you. Arthur agreed."

Auggie dropped his head, face toward the sidewalk between his feet. Of all the reasons he had imagined for Joan to show up in his hometown, this was not one of them. Still, something wasn't right. He looked up, suddenly suspicious. "So that's why you came...officially?"

"Yes," Joan replied, but something in her tone made him cock his head.

"And unofficially...?" he ventured.

Joan cleared her throat uneasily. _Curiouser and curiouser._ "Unofficially...I thought I might mention to you that I've finally been granted the permission and the budget to create a technical operations team within the DPD."

Auggie knitted his brows. The DPD had always relied on an Agency tech ops team that it shared with several other departments. "That's a big win for you," he said slowly.

"It took me calling in just about all the favors I've accumulated in the last decade," she explained. "That and slicing through roughly 50 miles of government-issue red tape."

"Huh," Auggie grunted noncommittally. _Where was this headed? _

A long moment of silence followed.

"It took me almost a full year, Auggie," Joan finally said softly, but pointedly.

Auggie considered where she'd been almost a full year ago. Where _they'd_ been. An idea was starting to form in Auggie's head, but he wouldn't allow himself to go there. Not unless he were sure. He leaned back in his chair once more and folded his arms across his chest to keep himself from tapping his cane on his leg again. Joan continued:

"My dilemma now is where to find the right person to head it up," she sighed dramatically. "I'd need someone with the specialized expertise to run the state-of-the-art technical side, but with the field experience to handle the extremely delicate human part of the equation."

"Well, now, that _is_ a dilemma," Auggie drawled, resisting the smile that tugged on the side of his mouth.

"This person would be starting from scratch, building a team, training them to do extractions, ex-fils, code-breaking...anything the department needs."

Auggie nodded thoughtfully, playing along.

"And on top of it all, they'd need to be a people-person, someone with human capital, someone liked and respected in the building."

Auggie was making no secret of his smile now. "And where in the world would you find someone like _that_?"

"You mean assuming he exists?"

"Assuming."

"Illinois, I was hoping."

Auggie's smile was now almost painful, and in his head, he could see Joan's dimpled smile in return. But her next words were serious, and half-whispered.

"Auggie, this is very...delicate. I didn't exactly get vertical approval to approach you. You'd have to prove yourself. I'd need something to show the people up the chain. But, if I know you like I hope I do, you haven't been idle this past year. Is that a fair assumption?"

Auggie leaned forward and matched her sober tone: "Oh, that's a _very_ fair assumption."


	66. Chapter 66

_A/N: The next two chapters are a shout-out to an insightful and anonymous guest reviewer who was "deeply ambivalent" about our hero's behavior, and thus became the voice of Auggie's conscience in my head. Please - log in or sign up and PM me. I must know who you are! :)_

* * *

02.03.09

The intercom announced the Grand Ave station, and Auggie rose, slung his messenger bag over his head, and made his way to the door in preparation for disembarking. When the Metra stopped, he got off and walked east one block. Following the sounds of the crowd to the department store doors, he opened them and was immediately assaulted by the intense fragrance emitted by hundreds of perfume tester bottles. He grimaced as he stood there for a minute, trying not to sneeze.

As he considered how he was going to make it to the right department, a woman's heels clicked toward him, and a smoky voice addressed him. "Can I help you?" the woman asked, placing her hand flirtatiously on his forearm. He smiled his most charming smile. He was learning that, when he was out in public and needed something, if he just waited around pretending to be adorably helpless, there was always some woman interested in assisting him. _Ladies loved a blind guy. _

"Yeah, actually I could use a little help," he replied. "I'm looking for designer collections."

"I can take you," she offered in her sultry voice.

"That'd be great," he grinned as he deftly swapped her arm on his for his hand at her elbow.

The escalator dropped them at the second floor, and the mystery woman escorted him into the most high-end section of the store. "I don't work in this section," she pouted, "so I can't help you here. But I'm going to hand you off to someone who can." As she drew a breath to call out to a colleague, Auggie stopped her.

"Actually, I'm looking for someone in particular. You know Megan? Gorgeous blond, big brown eyes?"

"Oh," she sounded disappointed. "Yeah, I know her. Hold up, I'll go find her for you."

Auggie shook his head in amusement as he listened to her cross the tiles. After five minutes, during which time Auggie started to worry that he'd been ditched, he finally heard footsteps, two pairs this time, approaching him.

"Auggie," Megan said flatly. Then, obviously to his unknown helper, "Thanks, Carrie." Auggie heard Carrie walk away and he stood there leaning on his cane, a pinched look on his face that he hoped conveyed an unspoken apology to Megan.

"Hey," he started.

"What are you doing here?" Megan demanded, and Auggie winced at the hostility in her voice, though he knew he deserved it.

"I need some new clothes."

"I don't believe you."

"No, I really do."

"I didn't mean it like, you're not telling the truth. I meant it like, I can't believe you're showing up here and asking me for help."

"You're gonna make me go shopping with my mom?" he asked, hoping he could tease her into a better mood.

"I don't really care who you go shopping with, Auggie. You've made it abundantly clear in the last two months that you don't want or need me around. So I'm confused why you're coming to me now, all the way from Glencoe - how long did that take you by the way, two hours or something?"

"About that," he confirmed.

"So I'm confused why you're coming to me now," she continued," when you couldn't get far enough away from me after what happened at Christmas."

Her voice broke then, and he heard her sniffle. He closed his eyes. "Megan," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. Is there somewhere we can go, to talk?"

She sighed. "I guess I could take my lunch. There's a café. But you're buying."

Auggie smiled and nodded. "I insist."

Megan left to tell her boss, then returned and offered her arm. The two walked in silence to the café, where they ordered and then took their seats. Auggie folded his cane and placed it next to his water glass. He took a deep breath and looked in Megan's direction. He couldn't gauge what she was feeling, other than anger.

"I wish I could see your face right now," he admitted. When she didn't respond, he kept going. "I've been unfair to you. You've been a really great friend, and - "

"So I'm your _friend_, Auggie? That's awkward - I don't usually sleep with my _friends_."

He opened his mouth to contradict her, but shut it again. "What would you have called us then, Megan?" He was genuinely curious.

She was quiet a moment. "Okay, I guess I don't really know either," she confessed, and Auggie was encouraged by the softening of her tone. "I think we were helping each other through a tough time. I guess you can call me your friend. I tried to be."

"You were," he assured her, then corrected himself. "Hope you still are."

"So why'd you do what you did? Why'd you shut me out like that? I've been racking my brain for the past two months trying to figure out what I did wrong, what was going through your head. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. So many times I've tried to convince myself that my baggage was too much, that you were dealing with way heavier shit than I could imagine, but then - well, that just didn't work for me. It still doesn't give you an excuse to treat people, people who _love_ _you,_ like garbage."

He dropped his head at her mention of love. He was starting to realize just how badly he'd hurt her.

"That night," he began, feeling distinctly anxious about where the conversation was headed. "That night, in the kitchen..."

Megan suddenly grasped his hand and squeezed it. _That was a good sign_. "It was so awful," she whispered in agreement.

"That night, in the kitchen, do you remember what you said to Nate? What made him stop beating the crap out of me?"

"I told him you were blind," she replied quickly, but she sounded confused.

"Yeah."

"Was that wrong?" she inquired softly.

"No. Yes. It hurt," he sucked his teeth. _Nope, definitely didn't want to be having this conversation._

"Why?" Megan asked, incredulous.

"Because in another life, whether I was armed or not, Nate would've been a dead man about 15 seconds after breaking into my house."

Megan drew in a breath, and Auggie heard her shift in her chair.

"Can I ask you a question?" he said suddenly.

"Yes, but hold that thought," she hurried. "Our lunch is here." The waiter left their plates and Megan briefly described the placement of Auggie's food on his.

"So, what's your question?" she prompted.

"Right," Auggie nodded. "Why'd you think to tell him I was blind?"

"Because you don't look blind," Megan replied simply. It wasn't a satisfying answer to Auggie.

"No. I mean, why would it matter if I were blind?" he pressed.

"Auggie..." she murmured.

"Why?"

"I don't know, okay? The whole thing was so scary, and confusing, and I just wanted him to stop. Nate's not a good man or even a decent human being, but I figured even he'd feel bad about sucker-punching a blind guy."

"That's what I'm talking about - " Auggie began. She'd hit on exactly the thing that had bothered him so much.

"Stop, Auggie, I can see where this is headed. I get it. _Finally_. Listen: I didn't tell him that because I think you're helpless. Gimme a break. I watched you win two state wrestling championships. I cheered you on at a triathlon. I've seen your tattoo and I know what it means, you know, that you were one of those Army guys who goes after people like...Saddam Hussein or something."

Auggie looked up toward her in surprise. They hadn't talked about that.

"I googled it," she admitted sheepishly. "That was a huge turn-on, by the way."

Auggie couldn't help but smirk.

"It just came out of my mouth, okay? I don't know why I said it. The important thing is that it worked. And I'm grateful, because Nate is a freaking maniac." She paused for moment. "Auggie, I've been on the other side of that fist, and I wouldn't have cared what someone had told him to get him to stop, just so long as he _stopped_..." she trailed off. He held out his open palm, and was rewarded with her soft hand in his once again.

"Megan, I'm sorry. Really. I am."

"Did you really come to shop for clothes?" she asked quietly, mercifully changing the subject.

"I came to talk to you," Auggie professed, and she squeezed his hand.

"...but I do also need some clothes. And I really don't wanna go with my mom. Help a blind jerk ex-boyfriend out?" he appended with a sheepish grin.

She snorted and a second later he felt the soft impact of her balled-up napkin hitting his forehead.

"All right, finish your food and I'll go with you to men's," she caved.


	67. Chapter 67

02.03.09

As Megan and Auggie made their way downstairs to the men's department, she noticed her coworkers openly staring, and wondered what it was that drew their attention more: Auggie's good looks or his white cane. As a jealous teenage girl, Megan had found the hardest part of dating Auggie to be the constant attention he got from the opposite sex. Sometimes he encouraged it, but more often than not, girls just threw themselves at him. She knew that, and yet it had still irritated her. He was handsome, there was no doubt about that, but it wasn't just that. There was something else about him, some "it" factor, that drew them like moths to a flame. It hadn't really mattered to Megan that it wasn't his fault, or that he'd never actually cheated on her; it had pissed her off, leading to a lot of storming off and, on one memorable occasion, her actually slapping him.

But if she'd thought that Auggie's blindness would have turned down the volume on his sex appeal to women in general - and to be honest, she had assumed that it would - she was wrong. Really, really wrong. If anything, it seemed to amplify it. She didn't know if he knew, and she definitely wasn't going to be the one to tell him, but it was almost comical the way heads turned as he passed. Megan had even identified a specific process: There was the predictable "first look," where a woman would notice the cane. After all, it wasn't every day that you saw a blind person. She'd start to turn away, but then her eyes would casually travel up the cane to the hunky ex-soldier carrying it, and the blush would creep up her neck to her cheeks and then her ears. Assuming he couldn't see her, she'd commence the protracted "second look," blatantly ogling him until she saw Megan, at which point she would turn away, embarrassed. Megan, who'd never wanted for attention in public, felt invisible beside him, save for those brief awkward moments of eye contact with the gawker. She imagined it was how the non-famous spouses of celebrities felt on the red carpet.

"Okay, we're here," she announced, cutting her musings short, as they arrived in the men's department. "What are you looking for?" she asked, scanning for her buddy, Sean. She'd have to ask his permission to swoop into his section like this.

"Business casual."

"Business...?" Megan asked, turning sharply to look at Auggie. He was leaning on his cane and had a mischievous look on his face.

"Yep."

"Care to elaborate?" Megan inquired expectantly.

"I have an interview," he remarked simply.

"What? When? How?" she sputtered. Her heart clenched a little in her chest, and she told herself sternly not to be a selfish baby. This was great news for Auggie.

"That's need to know." He gave her a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin, and she knew she wouldn't be getting any more information out of him. She'd almost forgotten what a lockbox he could be. _So there_. There were at least two things she'd really hated about dating him. _Sure, tell yourself that,_ she thought sarcastically.

"Okay," was all she said aloud. She got Auggie's sizes and shooed him to the dressing room.

Leaving the dressing room, she ran into Sean and promised him the entire commission, explaining that she was just helping out an old friend. Then she found herself having to assure the disappointed salesman that, unfortunately, Auggie was straight. _Okay, this was getting ridiculous. What, did he wear raw pheromones as a cologne?_

Megan flipped through the stack of dark denim, searching for 32s in a variety of styles and washes. Auggie had a frame that clothes just looked good on, and her head was swimming with ideas for his new wardrobe. She grabbed an armful of dark slacks, dress shirts, sweaters, and - as a lark - vests, and delivered them to his room.

Auggie obediently modeled them for Megan, and she set aside the best for purchase. Auggie had said he wasn't worried about the cost, so she just piled the clothes high at the counter as she ferried alternate sizes and colors back and forth. After a half hour, Megan's lunch was up and she needed to return to her section. She checked Auggie out, bagged his clothes, then offered to walk him back to the entrance.

"Thank you," he whispered in her ear as they embraced just inside the front doors of the store.

Megan clutched him tightly. If he really was going back to work, she knew that meant he'd probably be moving back to DC. She was really going to miss him.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said quietly as she released him.

"Yeah?"

He leaned in conspiratorially, his forehead almost touching her own. "You should check your bank account."

"What?" she breathed, her mouth falling open. "Why - "

"You got a little deposit today." He bobbled his head and pursed his lips. "Okay, a _big_ deposit."

"Auggie - "

"Nate was feeling generous," Auggie smirked with a shrug.

"Auggie, what did you _do_?" Megan asked, heart thumping.

"Don't worry about the details," he said, leaning his cane against his chest and bringing his hands up to cup the sides of her face. "All you need to know is, your inheritance is in your account...plus interest. Nate direct deposited it today. He doesn't know that yet, of course. But when he figures it out, he won't be able to contest it even if he wanted to - and I guarantee you, he won't want to. Your ex keeps some freaky stuff on his hard drive."

"Auggie, I - How? When?"

"Hey. Shh," he soothed, smoothing her hair away from her face as he grinned down at her.

"Nate just messed with the wrong blind guy is all."


	68. Chapter 68

02.04.09

Auggie stood, and then sat again, and then stood once more. He tugged at the vest he was wearing, the one Megan had assured him looked amazing on him. At that very moment, his fate was being decided in the next room, and he wasn't sure what to do with himself while he waited for the verdict. He felt for his laptop bag, and once again unzipped it and cataloged the contents. It was all there. Just like it had been the last time he'd checked it, 5 minutes earlier. Auggie felt his watch; it had now been over an hour. Was that a good sign or a bad sign? He wasn't sure.

Joan was sticking her neck out for him in a major way. In the seventh-floor conference room whose anteroom he was presently sweating in, a group of senior Agency decision-makers were debating his value. His value relative to his drawbacks, almost certainly. Not a single person in the room - not even Arthur - had known before they began their meeting whom Joan was going to pitch as the head of her new tech ops group. Auggie had thought it was an incredibly risky move, but Joan had insisted that was the play. He trusted her; not only did she know Arthur better than anyone on earth, she'd been a bit of a legend in her field op days. You didn't get to be the head of a department like the DPD without a gift for strategy and an ability to read people.

Suddenly, the door opened and Auggie froze like a deer in the headlights.

"August," Joan addressed him formally, and he assumed it was for the benefit of the people in the room behind her. Best not to appear too chummy, Auggie figured.

"Yes?" he replied.

"We'll see you now," she announced, and Auggie gulped. He fumbled to extend his cane, then walked to the open door. _Please don't trip_, he prayed silently as he entered the room, heavy with the smell of stale coffee and men's aftershave. He stopped just inside the door, not sure of the layout of the room, and whether he should stand or sit.

"August, we have here with us Arthur Campbell, Bill Brighton, Ken Samuels, David Dent, Carol Perry, and Eric Braithwaite."

_Bless you, Joan_, Auggie thought, relieved. Joan had remembered that he'd need her to announce who was in the room. He acknowledged them all with a respectful nod.

Arthur took command of the meeting. "Mr. Anderson, you look well."

"I am well, sir. Thank you. Wish I could return the compliment."  
_  
Crickets. Yikes._

Then someone - Auggie wasn't sure who - chuckled a little and he wanted to hug the man.

"As you know, the DPD is expanding - " Arthur stopped short. "Have a seat, Mr. Anderson, you're making us nervous."

Auggie stood frozen, not sure how to go about finding a seat without appearing incompetent in front of this crowd. Sweat trickled down his back.

"There's a chair at your 2 o'clock," Joan said quietly from somewhere to his left. He swept with his cane and found it. He sat down carefully, stifling a sigh of relief and once more mentally thanking Joan.

Arthur continued. "With the DPD's expansion comes a need for a dedicated technical operations group. The first personnel challenge is finding someone to head it. Joan thinks you're that person. Do you agree?"

"Without reservation, sir," Auggie vowed. It was strange to be interviewing with the CIA all over again. Stranger still to be having this stilted conversation with a man whose illegitimate son he himself had trained to infiltrate the ALC off-book. Yet, it was so distinctly emblematic of the topsy-turvy world of the Agency that it was almost comforting in its strangeness. Besides, Auggie knew Arthur must be feeling more than a little off-balance himself, with Joan having kept him in the dark, and Auggie now sitting suddenly in front of him after 18 months away.

"We're all familiar with your file, Mr. Anderson, and your exemplary record before your...time in Iraq. But Joan has indicated that you've brought something with you today that may help us make our decision. Would you care to show us?"

"Happy to, sir," Auggie replied, relieved that they would apparently save their questions for after his demonstration. _This was the fun part. _

He grabbed the bag he'd placed at his feet. "Joan, would you mind showing me to the A/V set-up?" Auggie asked, and Joan was beside him moments later. They walked to the other side of the room, where she showed him the input for the projector. Before she sat back down, she whispered "good luck" into his ear, and he smiled. He heard someone hit the light switch as he hooked his computer up to the display, and was grateful he could work just as well in the dark. He then connected his headphones and refreshable braille display and powered up his laptop. "Picture up?" he addressed the room. He was answered by affirmative grunts.

"Like blowing out a birthday candle," he whispered under his breath, and then called up the program he'd spent the last 8 months working on. He imagined the images filling the screen in the darkened room. His fingers slipped over the Braille scrolling beneath them as his right ear filled with feedback from the display.

"Auggie..." said Arthur, wonder coloring his voice. Auggie smiled inwardly at the slip - Arthur had dropped the formal pretense. "What are we looking at?" Besides Arthur's obvious awe, Auggie was picking up a growing wave of murmurs of astonishment and admiration from around the room.

"This," Auggie faked nonchalance, "is just a little something I put together in my down time. It's only about 75% complete, but as you can see, it's gonna be pretty spectacular when it's done." He paused a moment, letting it sink in. "I call it _Hummingbird_."

He hoped they couldn't see his childlike grin in the dark room. Warmth flowed from his chest, out to the tingling tips of his fingers and toes. He thought simply, unbelievably, euphorically:

_I'm back._

* * *

**END OF PART TWO**


	69. Chapter 69

**PART THREE**

* * *

03.14.09

"What am I touching?" Auggie puzzled, running his hands across wire framework.

"It's art."

"Okay..."

"It's, um...how do I describe it? It's a metal circle thing...and then there's this illuminated panel behind it..."

"Illuminated?"

"Yeah."

"Over my bed?"

"Trust me, Aug," Jan assured. "It's gonna look great."

Auggie cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. "If you say so."

"I do. Alan, where's the toolbox?" Jan shouted over Auggie's shoulder.

"I got it over here," responded Mike from the bathroom, where he was installing sleek, serpentine shelves that undulated across the walls. Auggie walked back toward his spot in the kitchen of the M Street loft he'd just purchased, where he'd been unpacking appliances and organizing drawers and cabinets.

"Auggie, stop!" Kim commanded from behind him, and he froze. "Sorry, Katie just opened that cabinet door and spilled her Cheerios all over the floor," Kim explained, coming around Auggie and shutting a cabinet door that he'd been about a second from painfully banging his shins into. "Here, take her for a second while I clean it up."

Kim placed Katie against Auggie's chest and he grabbed the squirmy toddler under her armpits. Katie, a non-stop thrill-seeker, was not pleased to be imprisoned in her uncle's strong arms and immediately shrieked to be put down. "Hey, hey, hey," he chanted, swinging her up to his shoulders and bouncing her up and down. He felt her drool down the back of his neck and stifled a gag. As she dug her sticky fingers into his ear canals, he was reminded that, while he generally liked the idea of kids of his own someday, that day was very, very, _very_ far away.

He heard Kim sigh from the floor below him. "You okay?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah," she responded unconvincingly. "Just enjoying Mother Nature's hilarious sense of humor over here."

He listened to her take several shaky breaths and guessed she was feeling nauseous. She and Andy had discovered only a week earlier that they were pregnant again. It had taken years and tens of thousands of dollars to conceive Katie. And then, just when they weren't even sure they'd ever have the energy for another child, Kim had turned up pregnant when they hadn't even been trying. She was being a trooper to even come on this trip. Though Auggie was pretty sure she wasn't accomplishing anything except barely corralling the newly-walking toddler who was into everything.

"I got her, bro," Andy said from behind Auggie as he lifted Katie off Auggie's shoulders. Auggie felt for the paper towels on the counter and used one to wipe the baby saliva off the back of his collar. "You okay, babe?" Andy asked Kim.

"I just need to get some food in me," she assured him.

"Yeah, speaking of, you hear from Chris and Mel yet?" Andy turned to Auggie. Just as he said it, Auggie's landline rang: "_Christopher Anderson,_" droned the robot voice.

"Speak of the devil," Auggie murmured, following the sound to the receiver he'd only gotten set up that morning. He answered and spoke briefly with Chris, who was calling to find out where Auggie wanted him to park. He directed him to the uppermost level of his parking garage. Two weeks earlier, Auggie had approached Chris with a proposition: Would he and Mel be interested in taking advantage of Mel's spring break from UM to take a little road trip from Illinois to DC in one of the last great American sports cars? He and Mel had enthusiastically agreed to deliver the Corvette to his new place, and they'd both been tactful enough not to ask what a blind man needed with such an expensive, but essentially useless, toy. That was good, since Auggie didn't have an answer for that question. He just knew he wasn't ready to walk away from the dream car he'd bought from a collector in Illinois only a month before he'd left for Iraq. He'd only driven the damn thing a handful of times; he considered the timing of its purchase one of the crueler twists of fate in the whole mess.

Ten minutes later, Chris and Mel arrived, and the family discussed where to go grab dinner.

"Hey, Alan - there's a place a half mile from here called 'Allen's,'" Mike laughed. "Why don't we go there?"

"Sounds good to me," Alan chuckled.

"No," Auggie interjected sharply, then swallowed and began again, more casually. "Place is a dive bar. We don't wanna go there for dinner."

"All right," Mike surrendered good-naturedly. "You're the local. You got a better suggestion?"

"I thought I smelled curry earlier. There an Indian joint on this block?"

"That's freaky, bro," Mike whistled, impressed. "Yeah, there's some place called Taj of India the other side of 28th."

"Mm," grunted Kim appreciatively. "This is probably weird, but a big basket of naan sounds heavenly right about now."

"How are you looking all this up, Michael?" Alan asked, confused.

"He's using his phone," Auggie answered for Mike. "Lemme see that thing." He held out his hand and Mike placed the sleek iPhone in his palm. Auggie traced his thumb over the flat planes of the gadget, the front and back barely distinguishable under even his sensitive fingertips. The shallow divet of the home button was the only tactile clue. Of course he knew about the iPhone. He'd been a huge fan of Apple since he'd attended college in Palo Alto, practically Apple headquarters' backyard. He shrugged and held it out to Mike. "Might as well come standard with a Braille engraving that says, 'Not for blind people,'" he commented jokingly, as Mike took the sadistically inaccessible device back from his brother.

As they made their way out of the building, they passed the salon that leased a large space on the ground floor.

"Before you start work on Monday..." Jan began.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Ma. I'll get a haircut."


	70. Chapter 70

03.16.09

Arthur stood in front of the hallway mirror, adjusting his tie, as Joan slid up behind him.

"Coffee?" she offered, holding a travel mug out to him. He squinted skeptically at her as he accepted the warm cup.

"Which is it?" he asked, and Joan returned a quizzical gaze at him through the mirror. "Did I do something right? Or did you do something wrong?"

Joan scoffed. "Can't I just be a wife sometimes without you getting suspicious?"

"You _are_ my wife," he replied, setting the coffee on the hall table and turning to her with a twinkle in his eyes. "But you're also a _spy_." He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. "What gives?" he whispered in her ear.

Joan allowed herself to be folded into his embrace, and they stood that way for a long moment. Finally she spoke, her chin against his shoulder. "Today is Auggie's first day back."

"Mm. I know," he murmured into her sweet-smelling hair, getting ideas that - if acted upon - would result in them both being late to work. But then Joan pulled away slightly so that they were looking directly into one another's matching blue eyes. "Thank you, Arthur," she whispered.

"I didn't do anything," he averred.

"For a spy, you're a terrible liar," she rejoined, and it was Arthur's turn to give a puzzled look.

"Eric Braithwaite and I had a nice little conversation Friday..." she hinted, and Arthur could feel the blush rising at the back of his neck. He hadn't intended for her, for anyone, to discover how he'd been working back-channels for months on Joan's behalf. On _Auggie's_ behalf.

"I just wanted you to know...that I know," she smiled.

Arthur, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the conversation, drew back and released Joan. "We need to leave in 5 minutes," he spoke over his shoulder as he walked to the hall closet to retrieve his overcoat. He hoped his change of subject would end this mawkish line of discussion.

"You know, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if he knew how you felt about him," she commented mildly to his back, and Arthur rolled his eyes. Men of his generation and military background did not, as a general rule, go around squeezing hands and giving pep talks. And they certainly didn't tell a subordinate that he reminded him of himself as a young man, that he thought of him as a son. At the moment, Arthur was regretting having even shared that with his wife. Plied with one glass of wine too many 3 weeks ago, Joan had squeezed the truth out of him. _Damn_, he thought; he'd forgotten how good she'd been in the field_._ Why had he thought it would be a fine idea to drop his guard with the legendary Joan McKenzie?

"Auggie is a soldier, Joan, and I'm his commanding officer," Arthur replied. "That's as deep as it needs to go. And that's plenty deep, by the way. Auggie understands that."

"So you never intend to tell him that you were worried sick when we got news of what had happened to his unit? Or how devastated you were when you found out how badly he'd been hurt?" she pressed.

Arthur gave an exasperated sigh and threw up his arms. "Absolutely not," he said firmly, as Joan leaned casually against the doorway to the dining room. This conversation was maddening; it was classically female logic. He reached for his loafers.

"Or that you secretly knew who I was pitching and had to practically blackmail the people in the room that day to even give Auggie an _opportunity_ to show us Hummingbird?"

"Not a chance," he vowed, shaking his head and sitting on the bench in the entry to tie his shoes.

"Fine," Joan said simply, and Arthur looked sharply up at her.

She was grinning.


	71. Chapter 71

_A/N: A brief note about __**iPhones**__ - As one of my faithful reviewers pointed out, the iPhone is just about the most accessible phone on the block for visually impaired users. __**Now**__. Unfortunately for our hero, it wasn't always so. When the first-generation iPhone was released to the public in June 2007, it seemed like a cruel joke aimed especially at those with low or no vision, and it quickly became a very hot topic for that group of people. Apple couldn't have designed a less blind-friendly phone if that had been their sole intent (though even the VI community could allow that it __**probably**__ hadn't been). ;) The 3G version, released in July 2008, was no better, and people like Auggie were once again left out of the iPhone loop. Then, miracle of miracles, Apple finally got the memo that they were alienating a large demographic with a yen for gadgetry and money to spend_. _When the iPhone 3GS was introduced, in June 2009, it came standard with VoiceOver (native screen reading software) and a host of other accessibility options. Nowadays, there are hundreds upon hundreds of apps just for blind or visually impaired users, and the iPhone has become a blind person's best friend. It's really quite the feel-good success story. __**However**__, in the timeline of our story, this hasn't happened yet, thus Auggie's little moment of jealousy over Mike's new toy. _

_Incidentally, Chris Gorham (the actor who plays Auggie) insisted upon Auggie switching to the iPhone early on in the series because of its unparalleled accessibility, and has used Twitter on several occasions to answer questions from fans of the show about Auggie and his tech. Recently, someone asked him (I'm guessing for the thousandth or so time) how Auggie can use an iPhone if he can't see. His answer was a link to a very informative video that I highly recommend. Since Fan Fiction will block the URL if I try to post it here, I recommend those who are interested go to You(Tube) and type "How Can You Use An iPhone If You Can't See?" It should be the first video, posted by "appcessible." _

_Now, back to our story..._

* * *

03.16.09

The company shuttle had been late. Auggie had stood on the curb outside his condo for almost 45 minutes waiting, and was on the verge of calling a cab, when he heard the van pull up. He pushed down his irritation; this ride would be a regular thing, after all, and he didn't want to start things off on the wrong foot. The guy driving, a man named Bill, was apologetic: there'd been an accident on the GW Parkway and his tardiness couldn't be helped. Auggie nodded politely and entered the van, which he discovered carried 3 other people. He was too nervous to make small talk, and only managed to get first names, which he was sure he wouldn't be able to match to their voices later. Thankfully, his was the last stop; once they crossed the Potomac, they'd be at Langley in 15 minutes.

Arriving at CIA Headquarters, Bill considerately offered to walk Auggie in. But Auggie was sensitive about how he'd be perceived, especially on his first day back in the building, and instead opted for Bill just pointing him in the right direction. Auggie could picture the familiar entrance in his mind, and he found the doors on his own, no easy feat considering the banker's box he was carrying full of his equipment. His new, larger refreshable Braille display, this one made for a desktop computer; a set of Grado RS2s that his brothers had gifted him as a "job-warming" present; a Braille labeler; a few slates and styli and various other odds and ends for his desk: they'd all have to go through rigorous security screening before he could use them, but he couldn't do any work without them.

As he entered the marble-floored lobby, he stood for a moment and listened. Joan had told him she'd have someone meet him here. But after several minutes of standing there feeling like an idiot, with the morning crew thronging in around him, he decided to go to security on his own. He'd been late, after all; who knew how long his greeter had waited for him before abandoning their post? He could hear the beeping sensors of the armed guards' metal detectors off to his left, so he turned in that direction. But someone wasn't paying attention. An unknown fellow employee clipped his shoulder, sending him off-course and distracting Auggie just long enough for him to walk directly into a column.

"Auggie!" he heard a familiar voice call out his name, as he took a step back and regathered his wits. _Perfect timing_, he thought sardonically. Among the footfalls all around him, he heard one set walking quickly - maybe even jogging - toward him. "Are you hurt?"

So she _had_ seen him hit the pillar. _Fantastic_. "Just my pride," he responded with a sideways smirk, readjusting the box, wedging his cane under his arm, and reaching out a hand to shake. "Hey, Millie, good to see you again. In a manner of speaking."

She laughed. _Small mercies_, he thought with relief, _she laughs at blind jokes. _Left to their own devices, most people naturally fell into two distinct categories: Those who couldn't stop talking about his blindness, and those who wouldn't bring it up if their lives depended upon it. Both were awkward. So he'd long since realized it was his job to shepherd the ones who were worth the effort through a transition into the ideal state of affairs: where his disability was acknowledged matter-of-factly, even humorously, but was not a constant subject of discussion. Blind jokes were his most effective tool in this tricky maneuver, and it was a good omen when someone laughed at the very first one he tried on them.

"You too, Auggie," she replied, brushing aside his hand and hugging him. "Joan asked me to escort you through security," she explained, and Auggie recalled a mental image of the analyst standing before him: Big friendly eyes, eager smile, skin the color of milk chocolate, and a crown of tightly curled dark hair.

"I'd appreciate that," he replied with a smile. Then, before she could ask the awkward question, he answered it: "I'll take your left elbow, if you don't mind."

"Oh, okay." He heard her shift position, coming around to his right side. He took her upper arm and they crossed the lacquered floor to security. Avoiding the columns this time.

An hour later, after being finger-printed, photographed, and retinal-scanned (the last two Auggie found distinctly weird this time around), Millie led him down familiar hallways to his old stomping grounds. Auggie was confused, though. "You're kidding me - the DPD still hasn't moved yet? That memo went out a year before I left for Iraq."

Millie chuckled. "You know the snail's pace at which bureaucracy moves, Auggie. Last we heard, the new facility will be ready mid-summer."

"Wouldn't hold my breath if I were you," Auggie muttered as they made the last turn.

"I won't," she laughed. "But your new group assembling indicates the expansion _is_ actually happening...eventually." Millie slowed to a stop, and Auggie guessed they were outside the wooden double doors. "I'm assuming you wanted to go to Joan's office first?"

"As always, your instincts are superb," Auggie praised, dropping his hand and stepping forward. "Thank you, Millie, I got it from here." He swept his cane until he found the door.

"Hey Auggie..."

"Yeah?" he turned back to face her.

"I just want you to know that it's good - _really_ good - to have you back."


	72. Chapter 72

03.16.09

"You must be Auggie Anderson," said a woman's voice as Auggie entered Joan's reception area.

Auggie turned toward the voice. "Y'know, I keep getting confused with this Anderson character, but I'm actually the _other_ blind guy starting at the DPD today," he said as he leaned on his cane with a smirk.

A chuckle. _Two up, two down_. "I'm Maxine," she said, and he heard her come around what must have been her desk. She stopped in front of him and there was a strange pause. "Oh," she said under her breath, just as Auggie realized she was likely holding out her hand for a handshake. "I'll, uh, just let Joan know you're here."

Auggie remembered that the wall of Joan's office that faced this small waiting room was glass, but figured her blinds were closed. Maxine opened Joan's door and spoke a few quiet words. A moment later, he heard Joan's voice. "Come in, Auggie."

The upside of not having moved to the new DPD space yet was that he was relatively sure he could make it into her inner office without embarrassing himself. He did, and Joan greeted him at the door with a squeeze on his bicep as she directed him to a chair. They both took seats, he in an armchair, she at her desk.

"Welcome back, Auggie."

Auggie could hear the grin in her voice and it matched the one spreading across his own face. "It's good to be back," he returned, folding his cane and placing it beside himself on the chair's seat.

Then, in her classically unceremonious style, Joan dropped a bomb: "Auggie, I have bad news. _Hummingbird_ was not approved."

Auggie's jaw dropped. "What? Why?"

"The Directorate of Science and Technology is working on something similar...though according to Stu, it's not nearly as sophisticated."

"So you're just shutting it down?" he asked, leaning forward and clenching his jaw against the frustration and fear that immediately took up residence in his throat.

"_I'm_ not shutting it down, Auggie. This came from above. But, yes, _Hummingbird_ is officially grounded."

"I don't understand..."

"I'm sure you will if you stop to think about it; the DST doesn't want you stealing their thunder."

"So, basically, classic bureaucratic bullshit?" he retorted angrily.

"That's right," Joan replied mildly.

He dropped his head into his hands. He had no idea what this meant for his return to the Agency, but it wasn't good news. He'd fought so hard to make it back into the building, and _Hummingbird_ had been the price of admission. Without it, would he still be considered valuable enough to compensate for his single - albeit glaring - shortcoming?

"Like I said, Auggie, welcome back to government work."

Auggie's head snapped up. That was promising. "_Am_ I still welcomed back?" he dared to ask, though he was terrified of the answer.

Joan huffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course you are. Auggie, you created a long-range biometric identification software program from your parents' garage; I think we can find _something_ for you to do around here."

Relief flooded Auggie's veins like a muscle relaxant. The tendons in his neck released, and he leaned back into the chair. As hard as he'd worked on _Hummingbird_, the point had been to get back to the Agency. If he accomplished that goal, the program itself was fungible; he'd exchange it for whatever they wanted him to do. "So what's on the agenda?" he puzzled.

"Besides assembling a technical operations support team for the department?"

"After that."

"To begin, I'd like you to start work on some prototypes." She caught the skeptical look on Auggie's face. "Ones that the DST _isn't_ also working on. Don't worry; I checked. These are strictly DPD projects."

"Such as...?"

"Well, we need new cell phone technology, something totally untraceable, something that masks which cell towers it bounces off of; also, a device, some kind of dedicated two-way encrypted transponder, to instantly hot sync during intel exchanges; and there's also been a push toward more sophisticated listening devices, even those that incorporate insect designs." She appended with a short chuckle, "Forgive me for thinking that last one seemed particularly well-suited to a blind man."

Auggie nodded, his confidence returning. This was not busy work. These were real projects, things he could assemble a team for and make happen. But there was something else he needed to talk to Joan about. "I'd like to discuss the plan for reestablishing my cover, as well."

"Your cover?"

"Yeah."

"What do you mean?"

"My hacker cover," he clarified.

"Auggie - "

"No, Joan, listen. A blind hacker is hardly unheard of. Frankly, I can't think of a better cover for me, personally. It's almost like we planned it this way."

"Auggie - "

"Joan, you've seen for yourself that I haven't lost my edge. If anything, I've only gotten better at what I do. And I think, with the contacts I made two years ago - "

"Auggie, _listen_."

He shut his mouth finally, but shot Joan a perplexed look.

"Auggie, this is not two years ago. I'm not sure what you were thinking your career at the Agency would look like from here on out, but the NCS has ruled you unfit for field work."

Her words struck him like a blow to his solar plexus. _Unfit for field work._ He found it hard to breathe for a moment, let alone respond. He'd assumed things would obviously have to change in the way he functioned as an operative; he hadn't expected that he'd be completely benched.

"When?" he eventually managed, through the lump that was back in his throat.

"It wasn't really ever a question, Auggie. But the formal declaration came down a week ago, when we submitted all the necessary documents for your reinstatement."

Auggie felt a stinging heat rise in his cheeks. Is this what he'd come back for? To be chained to his desk for the next 30 years? Like the pencil pushers, bean counters, and stuffed suits that filled civil service rosters? To be the bureaucrat he'd always pitied...or outright despised? As a field op, he'd been in the office only to fill out reports about his previous missions or to prepare for his upcoming ones. Occasionally he'd been gone for months at a time. He'd looked down on the lifers who walked the halls in drab suits, content to come to Langley every day, to do the same thing every day. And he'd caught the longing in the eyes of analysts who'd not been able to make the cut for field duty as he'd breezed in and out, the conquering hero. Was that his future?

All of this flew through his mind in seconds, followed by the realization that Joan was looking at him and judging his reaction. He came back to what a huge gamble she'd made just to get him a desk to be chained _to_. He couldn't disappoint her. And he didn't want to. He'd figure it out later. Timing was everything, after all.

"Okay," he acknowledged calmly, belying the storm in his head.

She was quiet for a long moment, and Auggie wondered what was transpiring between them in the small office.

"Auggie," she spoke softly, "I realize this may sound condescending or just like a very poor analogy, but...I know what it's like to leave field work behind. And to miss it when that chapter has closed."

Auggie shut his eyes and hoped Joan couldn't see the jumping muscles in his jaw_. _He maintained his silence.  
_  
_But what he thought was,_ You had a choice, though._


	73. Chapter 73

03.20.09

It had been a long first week back. Auggie had spent most of it getting his work station set up, meeting (or in a few instances, re-meeting) his coworkers, and working through the logistical knots that came with his particular set of circumstances. It was tedious and stressful and he was looking forward to a quiet couple of days at home to reboot. The next week would bring a flurry of interviews to build his tech ops team.

As he stood on the curb that Friday afternoon, waiting for the shuttle, he smelled her perfume first rather than heard her. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, just...a tad too much of it.

"You're Auggie Anderson, right?" she asked, and he caught a distinct note of flirtation in her voice. _Here we go._

"Nope, you're confusing me with the other blind guy who works at the CIA," he joked lamely. It had been his go-to line all week, and he was too tired to think of anything wittier at the moment.

She giggled and momentarily laid her hand on his bicep. He involuntarily flexed; it had been a habit of his (and every man who'd ever lived) since puberty. "I'm Bea," she whispered, leaning close.

"As in bumble?" he teased.

"As in Beatrice, but only my grandma calls me that."

"Mm. Tell me, Bea, how did you know my name?" he inquired, squinting in her direction.

"You're kidding, right?" she wondered. "You're, like, practically a legend around here."

_This was news._ Auggie raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Really," she affirmed, and the palm of her hand was now on his chest. Her perfume was really uncomfortably strong at this proximity, and he worried he might sneeze. Still...

"Are you waiting for the shuttle?" she asked.

"Nah, the valet'll be by with my Harley any minute," he winked at her. She giggled again.

"Well, where do you live? I could give you a ride," she purred suggestively.

He considered her offer. On the one hand, he didn't want anyone's help. On the other hand...he was pretty sure it wasn't her "help" she was offering. "I'm in Georgetown," he drawled finally.

"Oh, you're on my way!" she cheered. "I'm in Glover Park."

He could hear from the way she pronounced it - like it rhymed with "cover" instead of "clover" - that she hadn't lived there long. "How long you been working here, Bea?" he queried.

"Six months," came her reply, and she sounded a little embarrassed by the brevity of her tenure. "Yeah, I'm a rookie. I'm actually from California; I'm just getting to know DC," she added sheepishly. He'd guessed she was young; good to know he was right, considering what little besides that he knew about this woman he'd already mentally brought up to his loft.

"Hey, we all start somewhere," he reassured her, finding her right hand, which was back on his forearm, with his left. He traced up it until he reached her elbow. He then twirled her gracefully around to his left side, ending in the classic sighted guide position, and urged her gently forward. He leaned in until her hair tickled his cheek, letting his deep voice drop an octave and rumble in the way he'd long known drove women crazy:

"Now - where's this car of yours parked?"


	74. Chapter 74

_A/N: Credit for this idea once again goes to the super-creative and ultra-sweet __**annielovesauggie**__. If you haven't read her stuff yet, I suggest you do so immediately. It'll change your life...or at the very least brighten your day. ;) _

* * *

03.26.09

He sat in the conference room alone, jiggling his leg nervously and occasionally wiping the perspiration from his brow with the sleeve of his plaid button-down. As usual, the ugly tie he wore felt like a noose, and his Adam's apple protested its captivity with every anxious swallow. He only wore this, his one suit, when he felt it was absolutely necessary...though in this instance, he had to admit, it did seem kind of silly. Still, this opportunity was a huge one, and he was going to do everything in his power to nail it down. Even if that meant dressing up for an interview with a blind dude.

Through the windows that made up one wall of the room, he could look down on the hubbub of the DPD. He'd wanted to work for the Domestic Protection Division since the day he'd been made aware of its existence. It was National Clandestine Service purview, real spy stuff, like in the movies. Or, he imagined it was anyway; the DPD was one of the most secretive departments in the world, and a drone like him from the basement labs of the DST wasn't privy to its inner workings. _Yet_, he told himself.

As he watched (and envied) the workers below, he suddenly caught sight of the familiar dark-haired figure. _Holy shit, the dude got blown up by a bomb and he still looks like he just stepped off the cover of GQ, _thought Eric Barber in amazement. Somehow that made him more nervous than if Auggie Anderson had shown up looking like Quasimodo. As the man, the myth, the legend threaded his way through the labyrinth of desks and colleagues, Eric carefully observed the way he used his red and white cane to clear the path in front of him. It was effective - it wasn't like the guy ran into anything - but the implement, as Barber had expected, seemed outsized for the cramped space through which he navigated.

Auggie made his way up the metal staircase to the room where Barber was, and Eric stood and wiped his sweaty hands down the front of his jacket. He had one moment of cold-blooded alarm, as he glimpsed the telltale day-glo orange stains his lunch of Cheetos had left on his fingertips, before realizing Auggie wouldn't be able to see them. As Barber considered what other perks might come with working for a blind boss - namely, never having to wear this suit again - the door to the room opened, and Auggie walked in. He paused just inside the door. Eric froze.

"Marco?" he called out after a moment. _Shit, did I get the interview time wrong?_ Eric thought in a panic. _Who's Marco?_

"Uh, Eric, actually," he stuttered, walking forward and almost sticking out his hand for a handshake before realizing the futility of the motion.

Auggie snorted, walking past where Eric stood and taking a seat at the long mahogany table. "The correct response is 'Polo,'" he explained with a smirk, as he folded his cane and laid it on the table. He opened the folder he'd brought into the room with him. "Have a seat, Eric..." he traced his fingers over the Braille on the page in front of him, "...Barber?"

"That's me." Then, as realization dawned, "Oh, I get it now. Marco! Polo! Right." He forced a nervous laugh, "Good one." He walked back to his spot at the table directly across from his interviewer and sat down.

Auggie didn't verbally acknowledge the comment, but his eyes locked on Eric's own, which widened in surprise and confusion. _Am I being Punk'd? Can this guy see me?_ It was an irrational thought, but he quickly removed his rust-colored hands from the table's surface anyway...just in case. A half-second later, Auggie's unfocused gaze shifted a few inches to the right, and Eric's blood pressure eased down a few points in response.

"So, Eric - "

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" Eric interjected in a rush.

A look of amusement passed over Auggie's face. "Permission granted," he said slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I just wanted to say what a huge fan I am of your work, sir."

Auggie squinted at him and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. "What work?"

"Well, I mean, how far back do you want me to go? 'Cause I feel like I've been hearing about you since I was at the Farm."

Auggie just raised his eyebrows, in a _go on_ gesture.

"Okay, not to go all fanboy on you, but you were kind of a legend there. Rumor has it you put Coogan into a headlock on your first day of fight training," Eric explained, referencing one of Camp Peary's most intimidating fight instructors. He leaned across the table and asked furtively, "Is that true, do you mind if I ask? My class was split 50/50. I was pro, by the way," he added hurriedly.

Auggie once again maintained his silence, but the twinkle in his eye told Eric he'd been right. _Damn, this guy is like the coolest ever. _

Barber sat back and continued, "And I know that you racked up some pretty big wins at the Turkish Station in '05. I was still at MIT when that was happening, but all we ever talk about at the DST is what you guys are up to, what you _have_ been up to, so..."

Auggie straightened at mention of the DST and cleared his throat, once again drawing his fingertips across the dotted sheet on the table before him. Eric assumed it was his resume, though there was no way for him to know for sure.

"I think that was totally shitty what they did to your project, for what it's worth," he appended quietly, noting the mood change in the room.

"What are you talking about?"

"I saw _Hummingbird_, man. It was...mind-blowing," he stated reverently, lacing his fingers behind his head and rocking back in his chair. "It's a freaking tragedy that it got canned. Especially for the piece-of-shit software that Herdman got the green light to develop instead."

Auggie cocked his head to the side for a moment, then nodded curtly. "Thank you."

"Is it true you wrote it in your parents' garage?" Eric couldn't help himself. The program had been gorgeous - the 3/4 of it that had been completed anyway - code so smooth and elegant and powerful that it recalled the flow of a rushing river. "'Cause that is some serious Steve Jobs shit - er, stuff," Barber corrected. _Are you allowed to cuss in CIA interviews?_ he wondered anxiously. He'd already slipped twice. He knew for sure he hadn't at his first one. He dropped his hands and straightened up, hoping a more serious posture would help him keep his head in the game.

"Eric?" Auggie asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"Mind if we talk about you now?"

"Oh. Yeah. Totally. Shoot." _Shut your pie hole, Eric!_ he scolded himself. _This is why you aren't allowed in the field!_

Auggie interrogated him for the next 20 minutes, drilling him on his technical acumen, his practical application of it, and his forecast of how he'd do supporting operatives - some in life or death situations - in the field. By the time it was over, Eric felt light-headed and knew the armpits of his shirt were soaked under his jacket. Still, he felt he'd done a reasonable job answering Auggie's questions. He just hoped Auggie felt the same way.

"Okay," Auggie announced, gathering his papers and closing the folder. He stood and held out his hand across the table. Barber jumped up and grabbed it, pumping it up and down several times before Auggie stopped the motion and pulled his hand out of Eric's bear paw grip.

"Thank you, sir, for the opportunity," Eric said, remembering vaguely that business etiquette dictated he do so.

"It was good to meet you," Auggie replied.

"Oh," Eric uttered. "Actually, we've met before."

Auggie's brow creased in confusion. "We have?"

"Yeah, uh...before you, uh..." Barber gulped audibly. "My first day at the Agency, actually. March of '06. I couldn't get my keycard to work, you walked me to Schmidt's office so I could get a new one. Bought me a cup of coffee on the way, too." He guessed by the look on Auggie's face that he didn't have a clue what Barber was talking about. "It's okay if you don't remember me," he tagged onto the end of his dumb little story. Of course he wouldn't remember. Barber only remembered it because he'd been star-struck when he'd seen the name on the man's ID badge.

Auggie didn't speak for a minute, just closed his eyes and stood thoughtfully. "You a tall guy?" he asked suddenly, opening his eyes.

"Yeah," Barber responded breathlessly. "I'm 6'4"."

"Sandy hair? Scraggly beard?"

_Hey,_ Eric thought defensively, hand flying up to his chin._ Okay, it's a little scraggly._ "Yeah," he answered, abashed.

Auggie smiled. "I do remember you. Glad you stuck around."

Barber stood there stupidly for a minute, then realized the interview was officially over and Auggie was waiting for him to leave. He grabbed his bag hurriedly and walked quickly to the door. He opened it, stepped outside, and shut it behind him. He exhaled to clear his head, then immediately cursed himself. He'd forgotten! He whipped back around and threw the door open, startling Auggie, who'd been walking to the door and had avoided being clobbered by it by about 6 inches.

"Oh my gosh," Barber apologized, "I'm so sorry. It's just, I forgot something." He dug into his bag and retrieved the device. "This is for you."

Auggie just stood there, clearly bemused.

"Could you, uh, hold out your hand?" Barber suggested awkwardly.

Auggie tucked the folder under his arm and held out his left hand. Barber placed the small black wand in it. It was about the same circumference as a Sharpie and no longer than 8 inches.

"A pen?" Auggie puzzled, leaning his cane against his chest and turning the object over in his hands. He started to hand it back. "I don't have much use for pens these days."

"It's not a pen," Barber corrected him excitedly. "It's - well, for lack of a better term, it's a laser cane."

"A what?" Auggie asked, drawing his hand back. He laid his folder on the table, leaned his cane against the wall, then explored the device with renewed interest.

"It's a prototype. It's based on mapping technology the DST has been developing for Special Ops. Originally, it was supposed to be for gauging terrain and distances and sweeping for land mines and stuff."

"So what happened?"

"You mean, why didn't it get put into use for that?"

"Yeah."

"We couldn't figure out how to mask the laser. It's not exactly discreet - it emits a bright green grid. Here," he reached over and twisted the gadget until a tiny button was under Auggie's thumb. "Press that." Auggie did, then sharply sucked in air and almost dropped the apparatus.

"Whoa!" cautioned Eric, the green matrix bobbling on his chest. The delicate piece of equipment was probably worth more than his life.

"What the hell was that?" Auggie demanded, switching the laser cane to his right hand and shaking out his left.

Eric grinned widely. "Feedback, sir." He knew from experience that the electric pulses and vibrations the device put out were startling the first time you felt them. Not exactly painful, but distinctly weird. _Probably should have mentioned that before I had him turn it on, _he realized belatedly. But they were intuitive, and hard to describe in words.

Auggie's face took on a look of extreme concentration as he swung the device in a small arc in front of him, mimicking the sweeping motion Eric had earlier seen him do with his physical cane. After a moment, he took a step forward, and Barber moved out of his way. Auggie slowly made his way across the room, and Eric winced as he came within a foot of the far wall. But Auggie stopped one step before he would have run into it and slowly lifted his arm up until the back of his hand came into contact with it.

"Unreal," he whispered.

"Unfortunately, you can't take it off-campus, 'cause it's still 17 different kinds of classified. But it's all yours whenever you're at Langley. Consider it a 'we're sorry' present from the nerds of the Directorate of Science & Technology," he announced happily.

"You're sorry?" Auggie turned sharply and shot Eric a barbed look. "For _what?_" he asked, the question laced with suspicion.

Barber was taken aback by the sudden hardness in the man's face. "For shutting down _Hummingbird_," he explained, confused.

"Oh," Auggie muttered, and his features relaxed. He once again turned his focus to the cane and walked back the way he'd come. He ran the grid over the chairs to his left, then confirmed their presence with his hand.

He chuckled and shook his head in wonder. "You run point on this, Barber?"

"I did," he confirmed proudly.

"Well then, you're hired. Welcome to DPD Tech Ops."


	75. Chapter 75

03.30.09

"So this is the new DPD technical operations center, huh?"

Auggie startled at the sound. He'd been entering code for an hour, and had been lulled into a quasi-meditative state by the monotone feedback coming through his Grados. His brand new team was at lunch, but Auggie had stayed behind to enjoy the silence and get some work done. He slipped his headphones down around his neck and swiveled his chair to his left, where the voice had come from. "That's us."

"Pretty sweet set-up you've got down here, my friend."

Auggie raised an eyebrow. _My friend?_ He couldn't place the voice, but from the familiar way the man spoke to him, he guessed he must've met him before. This happened far more frequently than the sighted people around him realized; they assumed he could automatically associate every voice he heard to the person it belonged to. He couldn't. But he could usually improv until he either figured it out or the interaction was over. He tried to think of it as an opportunity to keep his deception skills sharp, in case he ever needed them again in the field someday. _When_ he needed them again in the field someday.

But as mysterious as his visitor's identity was, his compliment at least equaled it: Auggie's "tech ops department" at the moment was essentially a hallway between the bullpen and the back rooms of the DPD. Joan promised the new facility would include a state-of-the-art suite of offices just for his team, but for now his "set-up" definitely wasn't sweet. Auggie's workspace in particular was about the size of a server closet, and just as glamorous. He removed his headphones and placed them on his desk. "If you say so."

"What's this?" the man asked, wandering into the room and crossing behind Auggie's desk chair.

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"I'm talking about this bank of space-age looking hard drives right here." He didn't sound embarrassed or awkward about his slip-up, which made Auggie instantly like him. He sounded like the straightforward type. If only Auggie could figure out who he was and where he'd met him before...

"_That_ is not a 'bank of hard drives,'" Auggie scoffed, rising and walking toward the back corner of the room. "You're looking at an IBM Blue Gene supercomputer. Well, a prototype of it, anyway. Well, one _rack_ of one prototype anyway." Auggie smiled, leaning against the warmly buzzing cabinet, and turning on what Helen had teasingly referred to as his _Professor Anderson_ voice: "Highly classified at the moment and used for a wide range of computationally intensive tasks like molecular modeling, climate research, quantum mechanics." He ticked off its uses on the fingers of his left hand. "Or, in our little neck of the woods, cryptanalysis."

"That's incredible," the stranger marveled. "What are we talking, gigaflops?"

Auggie was caught off-guard. Whoever this guy was, he obviously knew something about computers. Was this some nerd from the DST who'd slipped away from his desk and come exploring in the DPD? Had he interviewed with him? "Try 13.9 _tera_flops. And that's_ per rack._"

An impressed whistle was the reply. "I'm not a big computer guy myself, but I know an impressive array when I see one."

_Not a big computer guy?_ _Okay, couldn't be DST._ Now Auggie was completely stumped.

"Do you mind if I ask what that is in your hand?"

Auggie tried not to look thrown off by the sudden change in subject. He held up the black wand, "Laser cane."

"May I?"

"Uh, sure," Auggie replied hesitantly, reluctantly handing over the device that he'd already grown quite attached to. This interloper wasn't shy. "Careful. It's a little...jarring...at first."

"Fascinating," commented the mystery man. "And it works well?"

"Not as well as a pair of working eyes," he shrugged, "but it'll do in a pinch." Auggie held out his hand and the man placed the apparatus back in it.

"You lost your sight with Special Forces in Iraq, right?"

Now Auggie cocked his head. _Who the hell was this?_ He was done playing along. But before he could ask where they'd met before, he heard the pneumatic wheeze of the automatic glass doors, and Stu, Barber, and Hollman walked in. They were deep in heated conversation and didn't seem to notice that they had a visitor.

"You gotta be kidding me, Stu - with the cinnamon buns?" Eric asked incredulously. "From the first film? I'm sorry, but there's just no way that's the hottest Leia."

"I like the white dress," Stu replied meekly, and Eric scoffed loudly.

"Lay off him, Eric," Hollman sighed, and Barber turned on him. "And _you_ - don't even get me started on you. Leia as a bounty hunter? You think _that's_ the hottest Leia? Did you even finish the movie? Three words, man: SOLID. GOLD. BIKINI. If you can't understand that, then - " Eric's voice abruptly cut off, swallowed in a pained grunt. Auggie guessed either Hollman or Stu had finally noticed him and the mystery man in the back of the space and clued Barber in via a sharp elbow to the side.

"Oh hey," Barber recovered. Then, "_Oh_."

The three techs fell uncharacteristically silent and Auggie's curiosity went through the roof. _What am I missing here? _

"Excuse me," spoke a new voice, as the doors _whooshed_ open for the third time in as many minutes. This voice Auggie recognized as belonging to Carl, the burly black security guard with a build like a retired linebacker. "Sir? You're wanted on the seventh floor."

Auggie was the only one in the room Carl would call sir, but he was sure he'd misheard. "I am?"

"No, not you, sir," he chuckled. "Mr. Wilcox here."


	76. Chapter 76

03.30.09

Auggie fought hard to keep his expression neutral. _Wilcox?_ Couldn't be. Langley had been buzzing all day with word of his arrival, fresh off the Farm...and straight to the seventh floor, of course. But Auggie had heard he was a prick. Make that an 1) entitled, 2) arrogant, 3) self-absorbed prick. He was having a hard time reconciling that reputation with the curious, engaging man he'd just spent a pleasant couple of minutes with.

"Thanks for the tour," Jai said, placing a hand on Auggie's shoulder and scooting around him in the narrow space to make his way out the doors with Carl. To Auggie, Jai sounded a little embarrassed, like he'd been caught red-handed. Perhaps he'd been enjoying his anonymity with the one person at the CIA who couldn't recognize him from a mile away. Well, he wouldn't enjoy it anymore: As Jai passed him, Auggie caught scent of the distinctive (expensive) cologne he wore. _Tom Ford Azure Lime_. The only reason he recognized it was because Mike had started wearing it several months earlier and Auggie had bought him a bottle for Christmas. An ounce of the stuff had set him back more than $200. You didn't forget a smell like that. _Huh_. That at least fit with his image of the Yale-educated CIA scion.

"Anytime," Auggie mumbled as Jai walked out of the tech ops room.

The second the doors re-sealed, his team burst into excited chatter:

"You know Jai Wilcox?"  
"As in _son of _former DCS Henry Wilcox?"  
"What's he like?"  
"He looks _nothing_ like his dad."  
"I heard he was an asshole - is he an asshole?"  
"Were those John Lobbs?"

Auggie rolled his eyes at the last one. "How would I know what kind of shoes the guy was wearing?" He made his way around the huddle of techies and back to his desk.

"They were John Lobbs," Stu confirmed quietly, and Auggie shook his head at Stu's encyclopedic knowledge of...well, everything.

"So?" Barber pressed. "What was he like, boss?"

Auggie sighed in exasperation and sat back down in his chair. "Honestly? He was...nice."

"Nice?"

"Yeah, I dunno, nice. Curious. Polite." Auggie put his headphones back on, hoping Barber would get the point.

"Oh," Barber said, and he sounded disappointed.

"Don't you have some work to do, Eric?" Auggie inquired in a voice heavy with meaning.

"Oh. Yeah, boss. Right on it," Barber replied sheepishly, shuffling away.

"Hey, Auggie?" Stu asked quietly, filling Eric's vacancy as he came to stand beside Auggie.

Auggie stifled a sigh; he got so much more done when he was alone. "Yeah, Stu?"

"Nevermind."

"_Stu_. C'mon. What's up?"

"It's just...well, we had lunch off-campus today."

"Okay..."

"At that vegan place across from the Capitol Grand and - "

"Wait, Barber ate at a _vegan_ restaurant?" Auggie interrupted, incredulous.

Stu snorted. "He snuck a half-dozen Slim Jims in with him and chopped them into his salad with a butter knife when the waitress wasn't looking," he explained, and Auggie gagged. "Hollman was sure he was gonna get us kicked out. Anyway," Stu knelt beside Auggie and spoke quietly, "I saw Arthur Campbell coming out of the Capitol Grand."

Auggie shook his head and shrugged his shoulders in a _So, what?_ gesture.

"He wasn't alone."

Auggie turned slowly to face Stu. "Who was he with?"

"A woman. Not Joan. Brunette."

"Could've been his ex, Geena. They're friendly."

"No, I know what Geena looks like. It wasn't her. I've never seen this lady."

"What are you getting at, Stu?"

"I don't know exactly. But they looked pretty, um, _friendly_. And I know you're close with Joan, so..."

Auggie turned back to his computer, a troubled look on his face. "Yeah, okay, thanks Stu."

"No problem."

Auggie chewed on his lower lip for a moment_, _then got back to work.

But he couldn't avoid the thought: _Liza Hearn was a brunette. _

* * *

_A/N: Some of you who are as fanatical about the show's details as I am may note that the Jai timeline is a little screwy. (Er, make that totally impossible). I started to write out exactly why, and it just looked like Ted Kaczynski's insane ramblings. Suffice it to say, I hope I've proven my extreme devotion to the canon enough by now that you'll trust me when I tell you I've done my homework and various plot points simply do. not. work. I've had to make some adjustments at my own discretion, both to Auggie's and to Jai's timelines. In Jai's case, I've decided to ignore that he was ever revealed as Ben Mercer's handler in Sri Lanka in 2007 ("When the Levee Breaks," 1.12); instead, I've chosen to move forward with events as they're described by Auggie later ("Loving the Alien," 3.7). _

_For what it's worth, I'm a Covert Affairs super-fan and so I don't care if their timelines are a little janky. I love the show, and the writers, unconditionally. ;) I just wanted you all to know that I've done my due diligence, and I'm not playing fast and loose with the canon._


	77. Chapter 77

04.03.09

Arthur sat in the waiting room of the Inova Hospital ER trying to distract himself with the television mounted above the triage nurse's station. It wasn't working; he couldn't concentrate. Normally, he'd have a hard time tearing his eyes away from it, even on a slow news day. And today it was tuned to CNN, with coverage of the shooting at the immigration center in Binghamton, New York on a continuous loop. It had been a frantic day at Langley, ever since they'd gotten word of the tragedy mid-morning. Now, it was almost midnight, and the CIA had officially ruled that the deceased suspect had been unaffiliated with any known terrorist group nearly 2 hours ago. But the tension in Arthur's shoulders, and the knot in his gut, weren't relieved by the news. Because neither had anything to do with national security.

Just then the double doors that led to the exam rooms opened, and Joan walked slowly, carefully out. His brow knitted together as he took her in: lank hair, high color on both her cheeks, and a hollowness in her eyes. Arthur rose quickly and walked to her. He took off his suit coat and wrapped it around her thin shoulders as they silently crossed the waiting room and walked out into the early spring night together. The weather was balmy, but even with the jacket on her, Arthur could feel her trembling against his side. "Wait here, I'll get the car," he whispered.

When he pulled up to the curb, Joan didn't get in right away. Her eyes were trained somewhere off in the distance. Arthur turned to see what she was looking at, but could see nothing that might grab her attention. He waited for another 10 seconds, and when she still didn't get in, he got out and walked around to open her door. As he did, she seemed to snap out of her reverie. "Thank you," she said softly, as she gingerly entered the car and sat down. Arthur walked back to the driver's side and slid in.

They drove in silence. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn't know what to say. Questions seemed like they would only be painful for her. Besides, he was already sure he knew everything he needed to know, just from the pain etched on his wife's features. As they pulled up to their darkened house, Arthur killed the engine and was grasping his door handle when Joan finally spoke.

"Do you think we're being punished?" she asked flatly.

Arthur let his hand drop. "No, Joan. I don't," he responded quietly.

"How can you be so certain?"

Arthur sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Joan. This is not some kind of karmic retribution for me cheating on Geena. For you cheating on Seth. These things just happen."

"_Eight times_, Arthur?" Joan asked, and her voice was hard with bitterness.

"Joan..."

"It seems fitting, doesn't it?" Joan stared out her window. "You left Geena because she didn't want children. And I apparently can't have them."

"Joan, stop," Arthur pleaded, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not clear on why you insist on beating yourself up over this. It's out of your control. It's out of _our_ control."

Joan leaned her head against the passenger side window and began to quietly cry. Arthur watched the tears fall down into her lap, and considered all the other times (_had it really been 8 times now?_) that he'd watched her go through this agony. After a moment, he reached out and placed his hand on top of her balled fists. "Maybe we should...stop."

Joan looked sharply up at him, her mascara smudged around her eyes. "You want to stop trying?"

"I don't know," he sighed, shaking his head and looking towards the floor of the car. Teo's face flashed suddenly in front of his eyes, and he felt the sharp spear of guilt pierce his side. Just like it always did during these conversations. Well, he could take the pain. He told himself he was protecting Joan, protecting her from the knowledge that he'd already been a father for almost 30 years. _On paper, anyway. _"Maybe it would be for the best."

When she didn't respond, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. He was startled to see not sorrow, but anger. Her eyes were narrow and her lips were a dash. "If that's what you want," she said coldly, shoving his hand off her lap and exiting the car quickly.

"Joan," he called weakly after her. But she didn't pause, just walked to the front door and let herself in.

The door slammed behind her.


	78. Chapter 78

04.11.09

_Bea. Tia. Jane. Steph. Candace. And now, Amy._

He mentally cataloged their perfumes, ran his hungry fingers over every inch of their bodies, felt their tastes explode on his tongue. Voices, too - he took note of the lilts and dips and squeaks and lisps. As he'd first experienced with Megan, his remaining senses had stepped all over one another in their haste to fill in for his missing one. Interestingly, though hearing was now by far his most useful sense for practical matters, it was an entirely different story in the bedroom. Between the sheets, touch was king.

Just as he thought it, he felt her hand on his upper back, the spot right between his shoulder blades. He barely restrained a shiver as her fingertips skipped lightly across his skin. He knew what she was doing: tracing his tattoo. Like Megan, and lots of others, she found it sexy. He wouldn't deny that was part of the reason he'd gotten it. Unlike the other women, however, she then asked him an insightful question that none of the others ever had:

"So, tell me," she whispered, her soft words nevertheless breaking the peaceful silence of the early morning, "how does a field operative for the CIA get approval to permanently stamp a Special Forces insignia on his body? I may be new to all this, but that seems like a liability to me."

Lying belly-down in his bed, he mumbled his sleepy response into the pillow.

"What?" she asked.

"I said, I wasn't always CIA."

"You weren't?"

"Nope, I was Army _before_ I was CIA."

"Oh. I thought the Agency embedded you with the Army."

He groaned, rolled onto his side, and reached for her. He had better ideas for how to spend their morning than discussing his career path. Finding her waist and pulling her so they laid chest to chest, he whispered in her ear, "I earned my rank. And you're right: No spy would be dumb enough - " he hooked his thumb over his shoulder, " - to get a tattoo like this. Thing is, I didn't know when I got it that I was gonna be a _spy_ someday..." He trailed off as he began to kiss her neck, which made her giggle and arch her back. He reached his hand up and tangled it in her long hair, and she responded in kind, running both her hands through his hair in a way that elicited goosebumps from up and down his lanky body.

Twenty minutes later, sweaty and thoroughly satisfied, they disengaged. Amy got up to take a shower and Auggie laid in the warmth of the post-coital haze and the sunlight streaming in through his window. He drifted in and out of consciousness, enjoying the golden moment. When Amy began to sing in the shower, Auggie smiled to himself. She was kind of adorable. _Well, actually, she's hot,_ he mentally amended...or so he'd been told. He thought back to her first day at the Agency only a week earlier. He and Barber had been in the tech ops room when Amy had come into the DPD. Barber had let out a low whistle, giving Auggie enough information to pique his interest.

"My feminist mother would kill me, but..." Barber had hesitated.

"Spill, Barber. Consider it a public service for the blind guy."

"I hate myself for saying this, but the only words that come to mind are 'high class call girl.'"

With that, Auggie had abruptly stood up from his desk and begun to make his way out to the bullpen.

"Hey, where are you going?" Barber had asked, alarmed.

Auggie had grinned, "Well, I'm gonna go welcome our new coworker, of course. First days at the Agency can be disorienting."

"And the blind guy is the one to help orient her?" Barber whispered, as the tech ops doors slid open.

"It _is_ ironic," Auggie had shrugged, with a wolfish waggle of his eyebrows.

"You dog," Barber had said to his back as Auggie strode confidently away.

Auggie had been extremely amused to learn since then that Amy _had_ actually been called off the Farm specifically because she could pass as a high class call girl. Auggie didn't have all the details, but Amy's first and current mission involved her infiltrating a top-tier escort service that - _ahem_ - "served" certain members of the House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform who were suspected of leaking sensitive intel. Amy was doing a good job, and Auggie could now confirm that she certainly had the chops to effectively sell her cover. Not that Joan would ever ask Amy to actually sleep with anyone while performing her job duties. But Auggie knew better than most that lines blurred when you were in the field. In any event, it wasn't something they had talked about. Fortunately.

Not that he had any right to be possessive about Amy. It had been only a matter of days between Candace and Amy. Between any two of his conquests since returning to the CIA, actually. Of course, he knew what his old therapist in Chicago, John, would say about the breakneck pace at which he was meeting and bedding women. He'd say that Auggie was running headlong into hedonism to escape the specter of mortality that had been hot on his heels since the bomb had gone off. Or maybe he'd say Auggie was trying to prove his potency. Sure, he'd adapted to his new life exceptionally well by any standard. But it wasn't his _old life_. Was he using these women to prove what a Big Man he still was? Auggie physically shook his head. He didn't want to over-analyze it. He was having fun. And he was totally upfront about that with the women he was with. So what was the harm?

As he heard the shower shut off, he rolled out of bed and walked through the kitchen to the half-open bathroom door. "Coffee?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, sounding embarrassed.

"Relax," he smiled, hands up in surrender. "I can't see you."

She laughed, "I'm always forgetting. Yes to coffee, though, thank you."

Auggie nodded and turned back to the kitchen to set the coffee to brewing. While he waited, he logged onto his email. It was a Saturday, but he found an urgent email from Joan at the top of his inbox. He frowned, the Braille patterns under his fingers spelling out Joan's request that he call her immediately. He did so, and as he hung up, a cloud of perfume wafted into the kitchen.

"I gotta go into Langley," he said to Amy with a puzzled look on his face, as he handed her a mug of black coffee.

"Oh," she sounded disappointed. "What for?"

"Don't know exactly, but Joan says she needs me ASAP."

"You and Joan...you're...close," Amy commented. Auggie looked toward her and cocked his head, but said nothing. "Did you guys ever date?"

Auggie laughed out loud. "_No_. Why?"

"It's just strange. She's so cold with everyone. But with you...I don't know...she's different."

Auggie shrugged. Then a thought occurred to him and he grinned impishly at Amy. "Are you jealous?"

"Should I be?"

"No," Auggie snorted, turning and walking back into the bedroom to his closet.

"_She_ should be," Amy remarked quietly, almost inaudibly.

That stopped him in his tracks. "What did you just say?"

He heard her inhale sharply and realized she had underestimated both his keen sense of hearing and the way sound traveled in his open-plan loft.

"Nothing."

"No. Why should Joan be jealous?"

"Shit," she muttered. "Can we pretend I didn't say anything?"

"Not really," Auggie replied, walking back out into the kitchen.

Amy sighed heavily. "It's just I've seen Arthur Campbell outside of Langley. A lot. With a woman. Who is not Joan."

Auggie walked quickly over to his computer on the kitchen counter. As he leaned over it and began typing, Amy gasped. "Auggie, you're not emailing Joan, are you? She already hates me enough!" she exclaimed in a panicked voice.

"No. Calm down," he replied, turning his computer screen to face her. "Is this the woman?"

"Who's that?"

"So that's a no?"

"No."

Now it was Auggie's turn to sigh. He closed the _Washington Recorder_ website tab. Whomever Arthur was sneaking around with, it wasn't Liza Hearn. So he wasn't a cheat _and_ a traitor. But then who _was_ this mystery woman?

As if she could read his mind, Amy spoke. "Auggie, I know who the woman is."

"You do?" Auggie looked sharply in her direction. "How?"

"Because she's the legal counsel for the Oversight Committee. It's Sheila Calhoun."


	79. Chapter 79

"Hey," Auggie rapped his knuckles on Joan's open office door as he entered.

"Hi, Auggie," Joan responded, and she sounded tired. _Tired and...sad?_ "Have a seat."

He found the chair, then sat and waited for Joan to speak. He didn't smell her perfume, which was unusual. But then, it was Saturday. The CIA didn't keep normal business hours, but it was quieter on nights and weekends, and many employees wore more casual attire at those times. He figured Joan just probably wasn't dressed up today, and hadn't thought to wear her signature No. 5.

"You have your regular cane," she commented.

"Oh," Auggie uttered. He hadn't even thought of stopping by his desk for the laser cane. "I guess I forgot. Still getting used to the other one."

"Well, thank you for coming in on such short notice," Joan changed the subject.

"It wasn't a problem."

"I hope I didn't ruin your weekend plans."

"Joan, really, it was no big deal. What's up?"

"Here," Joan said, and Auggie heard something slide across her desk. He placed his hand on the surface, and she nudged a file folder against it.

Auggie opened it and began to read the Braille pages it held. He furrowed his brow. "Who's Garrett Davis?"

"He's an operative on the ground in Barcelona. He's green, impetuous, arrogant, and in the middle of a highly sensitive mission. As if that wasn't bad enough, his handler was in a bad car accident on the Beltway early this morning and won't be back to Langley until she's fully recovered. Until then, I need someone to shepherd Davis."

"And you're thinking...?"

"I'm thinking you, Auggie."

Auggie's eyes widened. "Really?" he asked in disbelief. "You trust me with that? Already?"

"Oh please, Auggie," Joan scoffed. "There's not a single more qualified operative in my division."

"Hey, I won't try to talk you out of it. I just figured I'd have to prove myself to Arthur before you let me manage someone in the field."

Joan's next words were icy. "Frankly, I don't care what Arthur thinks about it. You're my operative, and you're the best man for the job."

"So you're not gonna tell Arthur?"

"Arthur's keeping plenty of secrets himself these days," Joan replied evenly, and he heard her begin to shuffle papers on her desk.

Auggie bit his tongue. He wasn't touching that with a ten-foot pole...or a 5-foot cane, for that matter. He told himself that getting in the middle of whatever was going on between Joan and Arthur was a bad idea. Besides, he only knew secondhand that Arthur had been spending time with Sheila Calhoun. That wasn't exactly a smoking gun. So instead, he stood and asked, "When do I start?"

"Right now," Joan replied, as though it were obvious.

* * *

_A/N: If you haven't already seen the 20-minute, Auggie-centric prequel, "Sights Unseen," I recommend you do so before beginning the next chapter (it's available with the Season Three DVD set or on Amazon). Chapter 80, when I post it, will assume that the events contained in the short have taken place between the end of this chapter and the start of the next. _


	80. Chapter 80

04.17.09

Sweat dripped from Auggie's brow as he laid into the heavy bag. He'd been at it for 30 minutes, and he still didn't feel relief from the resentment and bitterness that kept rising in his throat every time he stopped punching and weaving for a moment or two. But if he didn't quit now, he wouldn't have time to shower and be at his desk by the end of his lunch hour, so he reluctantly reached out with both gloves and stilled the bag. Then he caught the velcro of his right glove in his teeth and peeled it off.

As he packed up his bag and headed to the showers with his laser cane scanning the path before him, he knew he shouldn't be feeling so shitty. Coming back from Barcelona, he should've been on top of the world. It had been a major win for him. _Well, as major as wins came for him these days_. Still, he'd successfully coached Garrett through a tricky mission, ensured the safety of his asset, and gotten valuable intel on the key Salafist member in Spain. He'd even gotten Garrett to like him - by the end of his trip, Garrett had been following him around like the kid brother Auggie'd never had. For his first time on the other end of an op, it was actually pretty damn spectacular. So, yeah, he knew he should be feeling about 100% better than he did right then.

If only his triumphant return to the Agency this morning hadn't begun with him bumping into Arthur Campbell in the lobby.

"Auggie," he'd called out, and Auggie had stopped and turned in his direction, waiting for him to approach.

"Congratulations. I heard about Barcelona."

"Thank you, sir," he smiled. Auggie was relieved to hear no undercurrent in Arthur's voice. He'd been a little nervous that Arthur would hold him accountable for Joan's decision not to tell him about the Spanish mission.

"I know working with Davis was tricky."

"Y'know, he's not so bad once you get past the spoiled, reckless, entitled part," Auggie smirked.

Arthur chuckled. "Well, regardless, you did a fine job, and you should feel proud of yourself."

"I do," Auggie nodded. He paused, considering whether this was the right time to bring up his future, but then decided to go for it. "Actually, I was hoping this could be a stepping-stone."

"Pardon?"

Auggie leaned in slightly and dropped his voice, "I know the NCS has made their feelings about my value as a field operative clear, but with all due respect, I think my work in Barcelona just punched a hole through their logic."

"Auggie," Arthur sighed, "one mission as a chaperone in Spain does not qualify you to resume field operative duties. The NCS won't be overruling their decision anytime soon. And, frankly, I agree with them."

Leaning in even closer, Auggie whispered tensely, "I don't know if you remember, but you and I have a past, Arthur." He hadn't meant it as a threat, but that's what it sounded like. He regretted the words the moment they left his lips.

"Don't you dare," Arthur growled dangerously, too low for anyone else to overhear. "Not here."

"I didn't mean it like that," Auggie tried to explain, feeling flustered.

"Then what _did_ you mean?"

"Sir, I only meant that you and I have had a fruitful partnership in the past, and I'd hope you'd consider me for anything you might need in the future. That's all."

At that very moment, Auggie heard another pair of footsteps approach. "Morning, sir," the unknown male voice greeted Arthur.

"Conrad, good morning. I'd like you to meet August Anderson. Auggie, meet Conrad Sheehan III."

Auggie stretched out his hand for a handshake, and Conrad grasped it. "Good to meet you," Conrad offered. "I've heard a lot about you."

"That so?" Auggie wondered.

"Sure. You're the new tech wizard of the DPD."

Auggie frowned. He didn't like the feeling of knowing less information about the person to whom he was speaking than they knew about him. Also, he didn't like being called "new," when he was pretty sure he'd been running ops for the CIA while this kid had still been cramming for art history mid-terms at Princeton.

Arthur spoke to Conrad, "I'll meet you in my office. We'll need to speak with the Iberian desk first thing this morning. Set it up."

"Will do, sir," replied Conrad, and Auggie listened to him walk away.

"Who was that?" Auggie asked, when he was sure Conrad was out of earshot.

"He's my attache."

Auggie's jaw set in a skeptical mask. "Since when do you have an attache?"

"In the time you've been gone, there've been significant changes around here, Auggie. One is our - my - transparency initiative. And Conrad is a key part of that."

"So he's your new golden boy then?" Auggie asked, and he didn't care that the question sounded more like an accusation.

"Auggie," Arthur began.

"No, I get it, Arthur. It was nice meeting my replacement."

With that, he'd turned on his heel, arcing his cane fiercely as he walked away.

Auggie had done a reasonable job of keeping the turmoil in his head out of his morning's work. He knew his reaction to Conrad had been outsized, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been dismissed. That same feeling he'd had with Joan when she'd visited him in rehab - the feeling of being _dispensed with_ - swelled up in his chest. There'd been a time when _Auggie_ had been Arthur's Man Friday; when _he'd_ been the only one Arthur trusted with his most incendiary secrets; when he'd had the distinct feeling that Arthur was grooming _him_ to fill his shoes someday. He'd liked that feeling, and he'd felt the way about Arthur that he felt about Alan. Yet in the almost 2 years since Auggie had made the fateful decision to go to Iraq, he and Arthur had hardly spoken. He was pretty sure Joan had had to twist his arm in the way only a wife could to even get Auggie a fair hearing to return to Langley. Auggie couldn't imagine the kid with the WASPy name (_who went by "the third" anyway?_) actually replacing him in the field. But the fact that Arthur didn't need Auggie anymore, and he needed Conrad? That hurt. Also, that Conrad knew of Auggie only as the "new" tech guy? That freaking stung, too.

With all this circulating in his mind, he'd been counting the minutes until he could escape to the gym. Unfortunately, after a punishing workout, he didn't feel all that much better now. He just felt tired as he entered the locker rooms that adjoined the small workout facility. An update on the gym and locker rooms had also been promised years ago, along with the new DPD space, but for now the old layout was comfortingly familiar. His shins appreciated it, anyway. He showered and got ready to go back up to tech ops. As he was buttoning his shirt, he heard someone else enter the room.

"Auggie, how are you?" asked Jai Wilcox. Auggie heard him unzip a bag and open a locker.

Auggie shrugged. "I've had better days."

"I figured."

Auggie shot a raised eyebrow at him.

"I saw you going after the heavy bag pretty hard in there."

"Y'know, it's considered rude to spy on blind people," Auggie grunted in annoyance.

"Noted," Jai laughed. "In my defense, I just peeked in for a second to see if anyone was on the treadmill."

"Oh. Fair enough."

"Though, this _is_ the CIA," Jai continued, still laughing. "Whatever the rules are outside of the building, spying is generally encouraged within it."

Auggie cracked a small smile.

"Which is why I just wanted to caution you," Jai said, suddenly serious.

"Excuse me?" Auggie asked, turning to face him.

"I know you've been dating Amy Jacobs."

"That's a generous way to put what I've been doing with her," Auggie retorted, grabbing his bag and spinning the dial on his padlock. He knew it was crass, but he was less filtered than usual at this exact moment.

"Well, whatever the case may be, I think you should be careful."

Auggie's jaw dropped as he turned to Jai once more. "I'm sorry?"

"We're paid to be discreet around here. And I just thought you should know that your relationship has been noted by some powerful people."

"Or formerly powerful?" Auggie shot at him, knowing Jai would understand the allusion to his father.

"It's not like that, Auggie," Jai argued.

"So what _is_ it like? You and Amy have some kinda past I don't know about and you're what? Feeling a little jealous?"

"We were friendly on the Farm, yes. More than friendly. But that's still not what this is about."

Auggie closed his eyes and brought his free hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Then get to the point, Jai. It's been a shitty day, and I don't have the patience for 20 Questions."

"Look, Auggie, I may be new here, but as I'm sure you know, I'm not new to the politics of this place. With a father like mine, I couldn't avoid it. Everyone knows how deep you got with Natasha, and certain higher-ups are worried that you let lines blur when it counts. Which is especially relevant when you're involved with someone on as sensitive an op as Amy is."

Auggie shook his head in disbelief. _Who did this guy think he was?_ "Hey Jai?" Auggie asked frostily.

"Yes?"

"Thanks for watching my _back_," he flared, his words dripping with sarcasm. "But the next time I need relationship advice, I'll ask my mother."

Auggie flicked on his cane and walked to the door. As he reached it, he threw one more comment over his back, "And don't _ever_ talk to me about Natasha Petrovna again."

"I know you think I'm being nosy, Auggie, but I'm telling you this for your own good."

"Yeah, you're a regular Mother Teresa," Auggie snapped, then flung open the door and stalked out


	81. Chapter 81

05.02.09

Auggie got out of the SUV and extended his cane, waiting for the tap on the back of his hand that he knew Mel would offer as soon as she got out of the shotgun seat.

"Home sweet home," she announced, as she and Auggie easily assumed the sighted guide position. He felt her graduation robe billow out from around her in the late spring breeze as he listened to the commotion coming from the house they were parked in front of: the rapid guitar strumming of _joropo_ music, the smell and sound of sizzling beef on a grill, and the hubbub of who-knew-how-many native Spanish speakers all seemingly talking at once.

"¿Listo?" Mel asked mischievously, bumping his arm with her shoulder.

He grinned in return. "If _that_ smell is coming from _your_ house, I'm definitely ready."

She laughed, and Chris interjected, coming around from the driver's side, "Aug, you haven't lived until you've tried an _arepa_. I dream about them sometimes."

"It's true," Mel laughed again. "I've literally heard him talking about them in his sleep."

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Auggie asked, and the 3 of them began walking up to Mel's parents' home in the Detroit suburbs. Chris, who'd taken a job in Philadelphia when he'd finished residency, had picked Auggie up in DC and they'd flown into Detroit together the day before. Things were incredibly busy for Auggie at work, with Amy Jacobs' risky op imploding on itself, but there was no way he was missing Mel's graduation. Mel led the men up the short walk and three steps onto a small stoop.

As soon as the trio was visible to the people inside, an eruption of celebratory cheers greeted them. Some over-excited relative threw open the door, and Auggie felt Mel fence his body from being thwacked by it. As they entered - _were pulled_ - inside, Auggie felt no fewer than three sets of hands on his back and arms. Though this would have disoriented him (or pissed him off, frankly) in a different situation, he actually laughed aloud now. He knew Mel's entire extended family was here, and that Venezuelans had different ideas about "personal space." Auggie spoke passable Spanish, but he was overwhelmed by the sheer amount and volume of the voices directing questions and greetings at him.

_"¡Epa! ¿Qué tal?"_

_"¡Dame un amapuche!"_

_"¡El amigo ciego de Mel!"  
_  
And quieter, from somewhere behind him, "Buen culo_._"

He grinned and shot a raised eyebrow behind him, in the direction of whichever of Mel's relatives had been forward enough to comment on his ass. "Tía!" scolded Mel, and Auggie once again laughed out loud as Mel guided him through the mass of people and out the back door into the yard. As they stepped onto the grass, Auggie heard a woman's voice from his right, "¡Ay, mi Cristóbal!"

"¡María! ¿Cómo está usted?" Chris answered Mel's mother in the fluent Spanish he'd picked up years earlier in her native country. Then Chris was suddenly in front of Auggie. "Maria, I'd like to introduce you to _mi hermanito_, Agosto."

Auggie smiled and held out his hand, but the plump little woman threw her arms around him with such force that it almost knocked the wind out of him. "Agosto! We're so glad you're here! Come, come, Ernesto is dying to meet you, too." Maria had an accent, but her English was impeccable.

Mel patted his hand on her arm and he released his grip, wondering at how easily Maria then picked up the lead. Auggie exhaled subtly; it was so nice (and so unusual) to be around people who were this comfortable with his blindness. Maria led him across the yard and introduced him to Ernesto, Mel's father. The two men chatted animatedly for a half hour or so, exchanging stories of hijinks and mix-ups, of which Auggie already had many despite his much shorter-by-comparison tenure as a blind man. As Ernesto finished a particularly hilarious story about his guide dog, Santiago, Mel suddenly appeared at his side again and announced that dinner was ready. They made their way to one of the picnic tables spread around the lawn and Auggie took a seat between Mel and Chris.

Two hours later, after a huge meal and a couple gallons of mildly alcoholic _chicha fuerte_, the party began to quiet down and thin out. "¿Una otra _arepa_?" Mel's uncle offered Auggie, and Auggie groaned in protest and shook his hand in front of him. The delicious little fried corn cakes, stuffed with avocado, mango, cotija cheese and smothered in some sort of tangy cilantro-based sauce, were currently stacked so high in his stomach that he was sure he could feel them in his throat. Chris interjected, "I'll take that one," and Auggie shot a look of disbelief toward him.

"I told you, Aug, I dream about these babies."

"I got a feeling you're gonna be having nightmares about them tonight. What'd you eat, like 20 of 'em?"

Chris snorted, "I'll be fine. Then, faux-seriously, "Trust me, I'm a doctor."

Auggie rolled his eyes as he heard Mel stand up beside him. "Hey soldier, can I steal you for a sec?"

Auggie, surprised, accepted. "Yeah, sure. Chris?"

"These are _mi pueblo_, Auggie," Chris joked. "Plus, I might snag another _arepa_. Go."

Auggie shook his head and grabbed Mel's arm. They made their way back into the house, which was significantly easier to navigate now that most of the crowd had departed, up some stairs and into a room. "This your childhood bedroom?" Auggie winked. "I'm picturing pink teddy bears and ballerinas painted on the walls."

"Well, seeing as how my parents only moved here 6 years ago, that would be decidedly creepy," she teased back, and Auggie smiled. "It _is_ where I almost drank myself to death, though."

Auggie furrowed his brow at the sudden serious turn in the conversation. He looked questioningly in her direction as she led him to a bed where they sat side by side.

"How many, Auggie?"

"How many _what?_"

"How many girls?"

Auggie's mouth fell open. _How could she know?_ _Oh, of course._ "Dammit," he lamented. "Tell me, how frequently am I the subject of conversation between you and your boyfriend?"

"Oh, release, Fido," Mel scoffed. "The fascinating life of August Anderson makes it into the rotation about 1% of the time."

"Yeah, well, this is why my family affectionately refers to me as 'the human lockbox.' I knew I shouldn't have said anything to Chris."

"You didn't answer my question."

"You want a _number_?" Auggie asked incredulously.

"Ballpark me."

Auggie groaned and shook his head, leaning back on his elbows on the bed. "I dunno. Since I've been back at work? Maybe 20?"

Mel released a startled puff of air, and Auggie realized he'd genuinely surprised her. He suddenly felt dirty.

"What the hell, Auggie? In two months? How's that even possible?"

"Ladies love a blind guy," he shrugged, giving her a sheepish grin.

"I hope you're at least...being safe," Mel asserted disgustedly.

Auggie rolled his eyes. "Is this the sex talk? Is that what's happening right now? 'Cause I gotta say, it's a little awkward coming from the girl sleeping with my brother."

Mel lightly flicked his chest, and he laughed and brushed her hand away. She was the only person on earth who could talk to him like this without him walking out in anger or annoyance. But she of all people had earned the right to speak into his life, so he was letting her get away with his equivalent of murder.

After a moment, she spoke again, "No."

"No, what?"

"No, this isn't about sex at all, soldier."

Auggie sighed and pushed himself up to a seated position once more. "So what's it about then?"

"I just want to know that you're okay," she admitted softly and his chest hurt a little at her sad tone. "Maybe you don't think about it that much, and that's not a bad thing, but I have a pretty freaking vivid image of you standing in the middle of an intersection about to get flattened by a delivery truck. And there was absolutely nothing I could do to save you."

"I remember," Auggie agreed grimly.

"That was almost exactly one year ago today, you know."

"I'm okay," he reassured her, finding her hand on the bed between them and giving it a little squeeze. "You did save me, you know."

"When I came back from Iraq," she began abruptly, and Auggie immediately straightened up. "I was a mess."

"Yeah?" Auggie encouraged. Mel so rarely spoke about that time in her life, and when she did it was vague. He had to admit he was curious.

"It wasn't just the booze," she admitted, and Auggie cocked his head. "I was - " she cleared her throat, " - _concerned_."

"About what?"

"About who I was anymore. I don't know if you know this about me," she chuckled, leaning against his shoulder, "but I'm kinda hot."

"So I hear," Auggie smiled.

"_Was_ kinda hot."

The smile fell from Auggie's face and he dropped his gaze to the floor.

When she spoke again, her voice was as serious as he'd ever heard it. "So much of who I _was_ got destroyed in that blast. I was reeling. So, yeah, I started hitting the bottle pretty hard. But that was only part of it. Honestly, the alcohol wasn't the point; it was a means to an end. I wanted - _needed_ - to be numb in order to be with the guys I was meeting at these shitty bars."

Auggie closed his eyes against the painful image.

"It was a study in insecurity and self-loathing, even though I got real good at pretending having my legs blown off hadn't lowered my self-esteem to subterranean levels. I intentionally chose only the guys who were too wasted or burnt out to be bothered by my 'situation.' But it was ultimately a cop-out."

"How so?"

"Because it was an elaborate façade of intimacy, and not a stitch of the real thing behind it. I was naked a lot, but honesty? Openness? Vulnerability? Not a chance. And don't even talk to me about commitment."

Auggie frowned at the floor. What Mel was saying was convicting, but he was straining against it, too. "So you're concerned I'm doing the same thing?"

"Yeah, I am, actually."

"Mel?"

"Huh?"

"Hate to break it to you, but I was a man-whore a long time before I lost my sight," he smirked. Mel chuckled a little bit.

"Hey, don't hear me saying you gotta become a monk," Mel clarified. "I don't care who you sleep with. I just want to make sure you know _why_ you're doing it. And that you don't do it for the wrong reasons. For unhealthy reasons. People like us - people who've gone through a trauma - we can boomerang pretty hard, just when we think we're clear of that dark trajectory. Besides, trust me when I tell you you'll only regret it when you do actually find someone you love. Someone who loves you back."

Auggie nodded thoughtfully, and then suddenly realized she was talking about Chris. He experienced a strange swell of emotion in his heart, different from his customary fraternal love for Chris, realizing that his brother was a really good man. And that he was doing a good job of loving this girl that Auggie loved. "So you love him, huh?" Auggie asked, mostly rhetorically.

"I do," she answered quietly. "Being with Chris was a revelation. I never thought I could be so fully loved and accepted. Maybe it's because he's an ER doctor and he's seen some stuff that's just bananas, but he never blinked an eye at, you know," she trailed off and Auggie could tell it was hard for her to talk about this, to talk like this. She was good at being tough, and good at getting _him_ to open up, but it was hard for her to do it herself.

"Yeah, that sounds like Chris," he offered with a small smile. Then he leaned in, "And for the record, he says you're smokin' hot. And I've _seen_ him and I know what _he_ looks like."

Mel hummed a little laugh under her breath and then was quiet for moment. "I want that for you," she added. "I believe that's out there for you."

Auggie bobbed his head mechanically, though he realized with a pang of sadness that he wasn't sure he believed it. As usual, Mel caught on.

"Too many moving parts, huh?"

He just pinched his eyebrows together at her.

"The spy thing, the vet thing, the blind thing? It's a lot to ask somebody to handle."

"Yeah," he murmured to the floor.

"But if she can handle all that, she gets _you_. And that's pretty freaking great."

He sat there contemplatively for a moment, then he turned to her with a raised eyebrow, "Wait - are you hitting on me, Mel?"

"Oh, please," she chortled. "I'm dating a _doctor_. What do I want with your government-salaried ass?" With that she rose, and Auggie stood up beside her, chuckling.

"Promise me this," she asked, serious once more, pressing her forefinger into his chest.

"What?"

"The next girl you meet who has that, that _thing_. That long-term, this-could-be-it _thing_...don't sleep with her. Not right away. Okay?"

Auggie exhaled in exasperation. "Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea what you're asking? I'm a 29 year old _guy_."

"Just try," she argued back. "For me."

He rolled his eyes, "Fine. I'll _try_."

She made a self-satisfied little _hmph_ and they turned for the door.

"But only if I really like her, right?" he clarified as they entered the hall. "I can still sleep with women I see no future with whatsoever, right?"

"Ugh," Mel groaned. "You're such a GI."

Auggie just laughed as they proceeded back downstairs, where they could hear Chris narrating the NASCAR Russ Friedman 400 for Ernesto.

"You ready to go, Aug?" asked Chris when they entered the room. Unfortunately, Auggie was taking a red-eye back to DC that night, though Chris would be staying with Mel's family through Monday.

"Yup."

Mel walked both men out to her Pathfinder and Auggie heard her toss the keys to Chris. "You're not coming?" he asked.

"Believe me, I'd prefer it. But I feel bad leaving all the clean-up for my parents," she explained.

"All right, well, I'll see you soon then," he said, opening his arms wide for an embrace. He hugged her tightly, smelling as always her tangy perfume. "Oh," he remembered, turning around. "Chris, you got my gift?" Chris handed a package to Auggie, and he passed it to Mel.

"Aw, you're just all mush on the inside, aren't you, soldier?" Mel taunted playfully.

"Just open it," he grumbled. "I wrapped it myself," he added.

"I can see that," she mocked.

"Well, I can't," he gibed back.

"Ha," she chuckled, and he heard the paper crinkle. "Oh, Auggie, this is so nice."

"Just like mine," he noted, referring to his brown leather messenger bag. "I heard you social worker types carry around a lotta stuff."

"Well, I'll let you know in 16 months, when I finish my master's."

"Deal."

They hugged briefly one more time, then Auggie got into the passenger seat as Chris started the car. They drove a couple minutes without speaking, as Auggie checked a few voicemails on his phone. When he'd finished, he put his phone down and turned to Chris.

"You're gonna marry her, right?"

Chris's reply was immediate and confident: "Already have the ring."

Auggie leaned back against his headrest and grinned.


	82. Chapter 82

05.04.09  
Joan slapped shut the folder on her desk, then grabbed it and took it with her as she walked sharply out of her office. Two of her people tried to get her attention as she clipped down the metal staircase from her office and wove through the DPD. "Is it urgent?" she snapped, never slowing her pace across the bullpen as they tried to keep up with her. When they answered negatively, she shook her head. "Then it can wait."

As she entered Arthur's reception area, she simply raised her eyebrows to Midge. Midge looked down at the darkened phone lights, then held out her hand in a _go right in _gesture. Joan had to control her urge to fling the door open, and settled on just closing it a little harder than was absolutely necessary. Arthur was seated behind his desk perusing paperwork, but his head came up quickly at the sound of Joan's entrance. He regarded her over the rims of his reading glasses, a confused look on his face."I see you're not on one of your long lunches," Joan commented icily.

Arthur flinched slightly, but didn't speak. Instead, he removed his glasses and sat back in his chair as Joan approached his desk. She held out the folder for him, but as he reached for it, she gave it a little toss so that he fumbled it. He shot her an irritated look, to which she narrowed her eyes. "Explanation," she demanded.

Arthur kept his eyes locked on hers while he opened the folder. When he did glance down, Joan watched carefully for his reaction. Unfortunately, he didn't give her much to work with: he paged through the documents, which included photos, and then looked up at Joan questioningly. Since he wasn't going to speak first, Joan decided to: "When were you going to tell me about this?"

"About what?" Arthur asked innocently. "A trainee at the Farm?" 

"She's a little more than that, isn't she, Arthur?" 

Arthur sighed, clearly caught. "How much do you know?"

"Seth Newman has informed me that Ben Mercer is back on US soil and that you and the DCI have concocted some sort of scheme to draw him out by using this girl as bait."

"How does Seth know - "

"Not important, Arthur," Joan interjected sharply. "Why did I _not_ know? You're planning on installing her in my department and you haven't shared word one of this op with me."

"Joan," Arthur began as he stood and walked around to the front of his desk. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to tell you until I knew more. At the moment, we're not even sure it'll work. This op has been batted around for 2 years now, well before we even knew whether she'd be a viable candidate for the Agency."

"That's an awfully long shot." 

"We had reason to believe she had potential." 

"And why's that?" 

"She was one of Ramsay's students. The best he ever had, according to him."

"Mark vetted her?" Joan asked, her curiosity piqued. "We could use a linguist." 

Arthur gave her a wan smile. "So you're not angry at me anymore?"

"Don't push your luck. I need details." 

Arthur sat in one of the Aeron chairs that encircled his conference table and motioned for Joan to join him. "She and Ben Mercer had a tryst in Sri Lanka almost 2 years ago - "

"Why in the world would that - " Joan began, but Arthur raised his palm to stop her. 

"I'm getting to that. It's the timing that caught our attention; he went rogue immediately after leaving her."

"You think she had something to do with him going rogue?" Joan pried. 

"Frankly, we're not sure. But we're low on options to draw him out and a rogue operative of his talent and training just out there in the cold is a major liability for this Agency." Arthur steepled his fingers under his chin as he spoke, "There was a time I would've sent Auggie after him. He is - _was_ - the only other operative I've ever known who could go to ground like that," he said, shaking his head wistfully. "But obviously that's not an option anymore," he cleared his throat. "So this girl, she could be the key. Besides, she's far exceeded our expectations at the Farm; in fact, she's surprised the hell out of us."

Joan was intrigued. She'd come into Arthur's office prepared to ream him for once again keeping her in the dark. Of course, she was angry at him for a lot of other things, too, and this was an effective channel for that, being under the guise of work. Joan also wasn't thrilled that this girl looked like a cheerleader, but she knew that was her insecurity talking and she couldn't allow that to impair her judgment. The reality was, she could use another female operative on her team. Amy Jacobs was beginning to crack under the pressure and Joan wasn't sure how long she'd last. If this girl was really as good as Arthur was claiming, Joan could definitely soften to the idea.

"How long till she's ready?" Joan asked as she grabbed the file off Arthur's table and flipped through it once more. 

"Well, she still has 3 months left of training, but if there were an op we that we could use as an excuse to call her up, she could probably be ready in two."

"Noted," Joan said, closing the folder and standing to leave. "I'll keep my ears open." 

"Joan," Arthur got her attention just as she reached the door. "It's nice to be on the same team again."

Joan lifted her chin, not exactly in acknowledgement, but not in dismissal either. There was still a lot of dirty water under this bridge. As she turned to leave, she couldn't help but feel a bit of pity for the woman they were talking about bringing in to use like a pawn on a chess board. Joan shook her ponytail sadly as she headed back to the DPD. __

Annie Walker, I hope you're ready for this.


	83. Chapter 83

05.22.09

Auggie heard her footstep approach, and turned to greet her, "Amy."

"How'd you know?" she asked, clearly caught off-guard.

"Lucky guess," he shrugged. "How are you?"

She took a shaky breath as she sat down. "Right at this exact moment?"

He nodded.

"I'm okay. A little relieved, actually." She leaned in and whispered, "Though I feel like every spook in this bar is glaring at me disapprovingly."

"Do like I do," he offered drolly. "Don't look."

She breathed a small laugh at that, and ordered a beer as the waitress breezed past their table.

"So," he started.

"So," she repeated.

"What happened?"

Amy sighed heavily. "I came _this close_ to getting burned. I've never been so scared in my life. I can't believe it. I only ever made contact with - "

"Shh," Auggie held up one finger, guessing that she was about to name the member of the Oversight committee who'd been found to be leaking intel.

"Ugh," she groaned, catching herself as well. "Whoever thought I'd make a good spy was clearly insane."

"Hey," he encouraged, "you did good. You found the leak."

"Yeah, but not before jeopardizing the entire op."

"A win's a win," Auggie reminded her. "Cheers to winning," he announced as he held out his beer mug in her direction. She clinked hers against his and they both drank deeply.

"So you're moving on?" he commented, wiping the foam off his upper lip with the side of his hand.

"Yeah," she confessed. "I owe Jai for that."

"Jai?" Auggie tilted his head, confused.

"He hooked me up with the job in Senator Pierson's office. Well, his dad did. But Jai's the one who asked."

"Hm," Auggie muttered. That was a surprise. He still wouldn't consider the guy a friend (regardless of Jai's annoying habit of calling _everyone_ "my friend"), but maybe he was more nuanced than Auggie had assumed after their locker room run-in. Before he had a chance to say anything further, he heard a voice he now recognized.

"Rained out, Auggie? Your Little Bears can't take a little water?"

Auggie shook his head in irritation, "Always gotta rip on my Cubbies."

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met," Conrad now spoke to Amy and Auggie felt a momentary possessive instinct. But then he remembered his conversation with Mel, and relaxed.

"Conrad, this is Amy Jacobs. Amy, Conrad Sheehan III. You two have a lot in common, actually."


	84. Chapter 84

07.16.09

"Shit!" Auggie cursed as he heard the _plunk_ of his watch falling into the toilet bowl. He grimaced, reaching down and pulling it out. He briefly imagined that, somewhere, some ex-girlfriend was feeling inexplicably pleased, psychically sensing that he'd finally gotten his due for always leaving the seat up. He tossed the soaked watch into the sink and turned on the hot water full blast. After scrubbing his hands for a minute and a half in the scalding stream from the faucet, he dried them and then felt the watch. Uh-oh. The thing was dead. That was not good. Auggie felt a hot panic ignite on the back of his neck and forced himself to take a deep breath. _This is not a year and a half ago,_ he coached himself. He had a lot of other ways to tell time nowadays. There was his computer, and his talking alarm clock, and...he groaned.

He walked slowly through the bathroom and back into his bedroom, hoping he'd remembered to close his blinds, clothed only in a towel as he was. In the top drawer of his chest of drawers, he rifled through his socks until he found the little cardboard box. He lifted the lid and pulled out the object, then walked over to his alarm clock and hit the talk button: _6:45AM_. He flipped the crystal on the last-ditch, emergency, back-up watch he held in his hand, and winced in expectation. Sure enough, the disconcertingly alien voice on the thing piped up immediately: _12:12PM_. He sighed in defeat as he confirmed that the fingers of the watch indicated the same, and reset it to the correct time.

Yes, Mel's gag gift was _hilarious_. Somehow she'd managed to find a wristwatch that featured both Braille _and_ the world's creepiest audible time-stamp. She'd laughed uncontrollably the first time he'd opened the face of it and almost thrown the thing across the room. "What the hell?" he'd laughed, and she could barely speak through her giggles: "I - I," she laughed, "I found it," she tried to catch her breath, "on eBay." She made a conscious effort to control her breathing, then continued, "I was looking for a speaking watch for one of my trainees who doesn't want to learn Braille, and when I heard that, that _thing_, I just knew you _had_ to have it."

He'd taken the watch good-naturedly, but had sworn he'd never use the dumb thing. Except he didn't have another option at the moment, or time to get a new watch before work. _Awesome_, he thought sarcastically, strapping on the embarrassing little device and returning to the bathroom to run a comb through the bad haircut he'd gotten the day before. His regular girl at the salon downstairs had been out sick and a guy he'd never met had done the cut. Even blind, Auggie could tell that it was...not good. It was too short in all the wrong places and Auggie was pretty sure he looked like a douchebag. He finished dressing then grabbed a to-go cup of coffee. He slung his messenger bag over his head, grabbed his cane, and muttered, "gah," as he checked the ridiculous timepiece once more. The shuttle would be here in 5 minutes.  
_  
This day can only go up from here, _he brooded as he made his way out of his apartment.


	85. Chapter 85

07.16.09

"Send him in," called Joan preemptively as Auggie entered her reception area.

Auggie furrowed his brow as Maxine murmured under her breath, "Watch your six, Auggie, she's on the war path today." He entered Joan's office and waited while he listened to her slam drawers and shuffle papers. Auggie, like most of the DPD staff, had been avoiding Joan as much as possible for the past month. Unlike the rest of the staff, however, he happened to know that she and Arthur were quietly doing couple's counseling on their lunch breaks. He suspected her bad mood had something to do with the growing rift between them, and Arthur's burgeoning closeness with a certain government attorney by the name of Sheila Calhoun.

"Dammit," Joan muttered, and Auggie cleared his throat, not sure if she'd seen yet that he was in the room.

"Auggie," she spoke, "We've got a very busy day ahead of us."

"Okay."

"The device I asked for 2 days ago - the one that can hot sync automatically - is its twin all set?"

"It is."

"Good. Listen, since the Samuelson mission is delayed indefinitely at the moment, I'm giving you a new operative to handle."

"Who?" Auggie wondered, tracking her by sound as she moved around the office opening and shutting cabinets and drawers.

"When I say new, I mean _new_. You don't know her. She's fresh off the Farm. As in, this morning she was jumping out of an airplane at Camp Peary."

Auggie raised his eyebrows. This was highly unusual. Auggie heard Joan shut a file cabinet. "Here," she said, and Auggie held out his hand. She placed a file in it, which he opened, and trailed his fingertips over the Braille documents within. "Annie Walker," he pronounced.

"That's right," Joan affirmed. "She'll be assigned to handle Stanislav Orlovsky."

"The FSB assassin we put up in the Oval Suite at the Capitol Grande 2 days ago?" Auggie inquired dubiously. "Is she ready for that? It says here she hasn't even finished her weapons training."

"Well, whether she's ready or not, that's her assignment. Sink or swim."

Auggie exhaled slowly as his mind raced; it would be his job to make sure she _didn't _sink.

"Besides," Joan appended, "it's a simple errand. All she needs to do is get into the room, sync the devices, and get out."

"All right," Auggie ceded. "When's she coming in?"

"She's on her way to Langley right this moment," Joan answered.

"Oh, this op is going live _now_," Auggie uttered, shocked.

"Indeed it is. Giving her an hour to go through fingerprinting, retinal scanning, and swearing in, you should plan to pick her up at around 10:30. I'll instruct security to drop her off at the entrance to the enclosed walkway. Can you be there?"

"With bells on," he deadpanned, and turned to leave.

"Auggie," Joan objected, and he turned back to face her. "One other thing."

"What's up?"

He heard her walk toward him until she was standing right in front of him.

"I have a favor to ask of you."

"Sure."

"It's of a...personal...nature," she explained, her voice quiet. "Can you be discreet?"

"Of course. What do you need?" Auggie queried, confused.

She leaned in close and her Chanel perfume filled his nostrils, "I need you to get me some phone records."

"Whose?" Auggie asked suspiciously.

"Arthur's. For his scrambled cell. Since May of this year."

_Shit_, he sighed. He'd tried to avoid getting entangled in this mess. But there was no denying that he owed Joan. More than he'd likely ever be able to repay. Plus, he wasn't feeling all that charitable toward Arthur Campbell these days. "I'll let you know what I can find," he replied finally.

"Also," she added, and she sounded embarrassed, "I'd like access to his OpenTable dot com account."

He sucked his teeth, but nodded.

"Thank you, Auggie," she said, and he felt her hand squeeze his bicep.

"Anything for you, Joan," he assured her, trying hard to keep the apprehension he felt from seeping into his words.

He turned and headed back to his desk. He had a superior to clandestinely investigate, a thick personnel file to read through, and only a half hour until Annie Walker was going to stride into his life.

* * *

**END OF PART 3**


	86. Chapter 86

_A/N: It's Oscar night, so I'm in the mood for a speech. :) Here goes:_

_Please don't hate me for ending where I did! I am aware that several of my loyal readers may have been expecting me to continue this fic well into the canon. Truthfully, that has never really been my intention, though I did waffle on it a few times. Ultimately, I think it's best to draw this fic to a close in my originally planned spot: the last possible moment before the meeting of our heroes._

_For what it's worth, this has been an absolutely amazing (exactly!) 2 months, and I'm beyond grateful to all my readers, reviewers, and PM'ers. You couldn't have known, but your encouragement has literally changed my life. I've met some incredible new friends, had even more fun than usual watching Covert Affairs, and decided to work towards becoming a professional writer (don't worry - I know I still have a lot to learn). So, from the very bottom of my heart, THANK YOU!_

_Aaaaaand, for cutting off at the knees those of you who expected more, allow me to present a little peace offering: The Covert Affairs Pilot...from Auggie's perspective, of course. ;)_

_Xo,_  
_Cherith_

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

* * *

07.16.09

_"10:41AM"_

The door in front of him opened and Auggie snapped his wristwatch shut, hoping she hadn't heard the stupid thing talking. He stood and offered his hand, "Annie Walker?"

"Yes?" she answered like a question, sounding confused. _Yup, she's new, all right._

"Auggie Anderson, Tech Ops," he smiled, feeling her small hand clasp his own. "And your friendly neighborhood cruise director. Walk with me."

As they pushed through the double doors and into the walkway, Auggie put on his best show. Kicking things off with his signature blind schtick, he attempted to put her at ease. She had a big day ahead of her_. And maybe if I play my cards right_, he thought mischievously, _a big night_. He couldn't hide a little grin at the thought, but then he smelled something that slowed him to a dead stop. "Jo Malone Grapefruit?" he asked incredulously, turning to face her slightly.

"Am I wearing too much perfume?" she worried.

"No, no, it's very subtle," he answered thoughtfully, feeling a little guilty as the aroma immediately brought his promise to Mel back to him. "A lot of the ladies around here lay it on so thick it's like they're chumming for hammerheads."

As though her ears had been burning, Bea's voice came to him, a full second after her perfume hit his nose. "Morning, Auggie," she flirted, placing her hand on his arm.

"Hey Bea," he greeted back, not _un_pleased to showcase his virility to Annie, but also not wanting to ruin his chances with her. So when Bea was out of earshot, he turned to Annie and whispered conspiratorially, "Case in point." He made a little _pffft_ sound with his mouth, which served not only to emphasize the joke, but also to get the overwhelming scent out of his nostrils. Annie didn't laugh, but...it was the strangest thing: He could _feel_ her smile. _Huh._ That was new. _Get it together, Anderson,_ he chided himself immediately. _This is not a comic book and you do not have that superpower._

"Everyone here is so young," Annie commented, and Auggie explained about the unfrozen hiring freeze that had resulted in half the Agency having 5 years experience or less. She responded with a witty remark about the weirdness of it all.

He agreed, "You'll find this is a weird place to work." He began to list off the reasons, "Polygraphs every year, no cell phones allowed inside the building, no dating foreigners." He paused a moment, then added cheekily, "In fact, the CIA highly encourages dating within the Agency. Keeps things in the 'circle of trust.'" He'd used the line before, more than once, to great success.

As they left the walkway, he pointed out the food court and was mildly annoyed to have Conrad Sheehan swoop in on his play. He listened impatiently while Conrad flirted with Annie, and was uncharacteristically relieved when he heard Arthur beckon Conrad from the lobby.

"He works for Arthur Campbell?" Annie asked, sounding impressed, and Auggie felt a little sliver of resentment pierce him again. _He_ had worked for Arthur Campbell, too, he felt like pointing out. But that was ancient history, and as classified as it got. He settled for a little jab at the actually-quite-likable attaché. A few paces later, they arrived at Joan's office. As he turned to leave her, she called out, "Wait! You're not coming with me?"

He couldn't stop the smirk that curved one side of his mouth. _So she liked him, too._ "Oh, I'm not going in there if I don't have to," he teased and continued back down to tech ops.

* * *

As he walked into his office, he could hear his techs discussing something quietly. "Hey Auggie," Barber asked, "who's that girl you were with by the food court?"

"New operative. Annie Walker," he replied as he leaned over his desk and found the encrypted two-way transponder disguised as a Blackberry and powered it up. Then he turned to them. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"'Cause she's - _oof_" grunted Barber, responding to being prodded by (Auggie guessed) either Stu or Hollman.

"She's what?" Auggie asked. When they didn't respond, he stood and crossed his arms over his chest. He pointed his best Boss Man gaze in their direction and waited for an answer.

"Well, we were just theorizing," Hollman finally spoke up shyly, "that her arrival today is the reason Joan's wearing that dress."

Auggie smirked and cocked an eyebrow. "What dress?"

Barber answered quickly, perhaps to avoid being interrupted by another elbow to his ribs, "Let's just say Joan's dress is so revealing it probably wasn't _totally_ necessary for her to go through the metal detectors this morning."

Auggie snorted, shook his head, and sat down at his desk. "I believe you three have an op to prepare for," he threw meaningfully over his shoulder, and listened to them scatter. It was true; the mission falling into their laps this morning was a surprise and they'd been scrambling to make sure everything was in place. They'd even had to call in a few other techs from the old unit to help, and the extra bodies were filling up the tech ops space. But Auggie was also dismissing them to hide the fact that he'd just had an unsettling experience: For the first time since becoming blind, he couldn't conjure up Joan's face in his mind. He sat for a few moments running his fingertips idly across his Braille display, screen locked, willing her image to appear. But it wouldn't come. Before he could start to brood over its absence, the doors to his left slipped open and Joan walked in with Annie.

No-nonsense as always, Joan requested he put up the screens. "Coming up," he replied, pulling on his headphones and calling up the Orlovsky file. He hadn't yet gotten a bead on whether or not Annie understood that he was more than a just the "friendly neighborhood cruise director." But he was looking forward to surprising her with his competency.

Unfortunately, as the screens came up, Annie seemed completely unimpressed that the blind guy was the one running them. _Hm._ That was unusual. Most people freaked out the first time they saw him work his magic, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't love it just a teensy bit.

Yet, there was also something kind of great about this girl not seeming to notice it at all. She seemed completely comfortable with him, unfazed, almost like she hardly noticed he was blind. Auggie's estimation of her grew, though he fought to keep it in check. It had been two and a half months since he'd made his promise to Mel, and he'd kept it so far. Now he _really_ wanted to sleep with this girl - especially after hearing Conrad flirt with her and gleaning that little morsel from his team - but he wouldn't be free to do that if she kept being so...well, _perfect_.

Auggie caught his mind wandering and drew it back to the task at hand. Damn, Joan was in rare form today. She wasn't cutting this poor girl any slack. He made a mental note to reassure Annie later that Joan was just a hardass and she shouldn't take it personally. He felt bad for Annie but couldn't hide his grin when Joan implied that Amy had been killed on the job instead of moving on to a cush position as a legislative director, and a moment later basically told Annie she was dressed like a streetwalker. As much as he would've loved to see what, in fact, Annie was wearing, he'd have chosen seeing her face when Joan said those two things instead. _Geez_. Well, Annie Walker was going to need thick skin if she was going to survive in this job; no sense in coddling her at the outset.

Five minutes later, he met up with Annie as she studied the case file in the maps area. He handed her the pager she'd use for the op and she once again pleasantly surprised him with a bit of witty back-and-forth. Then she went and dampened the mood. "Auggie?" she implored earnestly, and he knew what was coming. He remembered back to that night in front of the fireplace at the VISOR center, when Mel had told him he'd get good at knowing when The Question was coming. He had.

"Can I ask you a question?" _And there it was._

He took a subtle breath, telling himself it was unfair for him to be disappointed; she was just doing what every other rational, curious person would do in the same situation. Hell, he'd probably have done it, too. In any event, he gave her the well-rehearsed company line: "I was Special Ops Iraq. I got out of a Humvee to look at what I thought was a dead dog. Next thing you know, I'm Ray Charles." He had the delivery down pat, even the little self-deprecating smile and twist of his head. He waited for the obligatory pitying response, the "I'm so sorry." Or worse, the "You're so brave." But it didn't come. After a second of silence, she uttered a little "Oh." _Oh shit,_ he suddenly worried. He hadn't pegged her for a crier, but it wouldn't be the first time.

"I was gonna ask what the headphones are for."

_Whoa. She flipped the script, _he thought, too amazed to be embarrassed. Once again, he couldn't stop the smile that crept onto his face. "Oversharing. My bad," he smirked, turning to walk back to his desk and feeling pleased when he heard her follow him. "Grado RS2s," he clarified, tapping his headphones with his thumb. As he felt her come up beside him, he did something he never did with uninitiated people: he reached up and grabbed her arm just above the elbow. It wasn't until he was in the middle of explaining the headphones that he even realized he'd done it. He blamed it on the fact that she smelled like Mel. "...and listening to Mingus when I'm supposed to be working," he finished.

"Mingus?"

"Yep," he answered briefly, unsurprised that she didn't know the artist. Most people didn't.

"I went to the Mingus tribute festival in Stockholm," she declared proudly.

He fell back on his heels a little bit and announced that she was officially his hero. He wanted to ask her more, but just as he opened his mouth, he heard the tech ops doors _whoosh_ open. He didn't know for sure that it was Carl, but being around this Annie Walker was vaguely intoxicating, and he was feeling a little punchy. So he threw caution to the wind and went big. He pointed over her shoulder and proclaimed, "And there's your ride."

_Nailed it_, he thought, as he heard her turn and walk to the doors. When she reached them, he heard her stop. "Wish me luck?" she pleaded.

He smiled, recalling how she'd stood her ground with Joan 10 minutes earlier. "You don't seem like the type to need luck...but good luck." Then, leaning back on his desk and listening to the seductive sound of her expensive shoes walking away, he mused aloud, "Mm, gotta love those kitten heels."

He was startled and chagrined to hear Stu cough behind him. "Oh, I didn't realize you were in here, Stu," he said, feeling himself inexplicably blushing.

"Yeah, I get that a lot, mostly from people who aren't blind," the meek tech op replied good-naturedly. Auggie turned to log onto his computer, when Stu's voice once again came from behind him. "And, I don't know if you care, but she's not wearing kitten heels. They were stilettos."

Auggie chuckled, once again surprised by Stu's extensive knowledge of shoes. "Thank you, Stu. Good to know."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Auggie sat tensely at his desk, listening to the chatter from the ops team they'd put in place at the Capitol Grande. The Agency didn't usually place this many ancillary officers around an operative doing a simple intel swap. It made Auggie wonder what the higher-ups weren't telling him, which in turn made him nervous. When he'd asked Joan about it, she'd brushed it off with the lame excuse that it was Annie's first mission. Auggie didn't buy that for a second; _his_ first mission had been a solo brush pass that, when it had gone sideways, had ended with him being forced to go to ground in Amsterdam. He'd had no back-up. If it hadn't been for the friendly, back-slapping local hash bar owner, he'd have been toast. He smiled at the memory and reminded himself to call Joost soon.

Suddenly his headphones, which had been intermittently receiving standard sit reps from the various parties on the ground, exploded with noise. Everyone was trying to get on the line at once. "One at a time!" Auggie commanded into his microphone. "Wong, you first!"

The tactical operative on scene, posing as a bellhop, came frantically on the line, "Auggie, we're reporting gunfire! A lot of gunfire! Looks like it's coming from the 4th floor!"

Fear seized his heart. "Get her outta there, _now!_" he shouted. "And keep the line clear!" Tech ops erupted into furious activity behind him, and he felt like punching something. _Dammit, Joan,_ Auggie thought. _What'd you send her into?_ He crouched at his desk, listening intently for any activity. He'd only been handling operatives for a few months, and none of them had (yet) been shot at. The idea of Annie Walker being the first one to go down was painful in a way that didn't really make sense to him, considering the matter of hours he'd known her. He shook his head; it wasn't a good idea to go there, especially not with everything going to hell on-site. He needed to keep his head clear.

After another excruciatingly tense minute, Wong reported in: "She's in the van, unharmed, and headed back to Langley."

Auggie exhaled in relief. "Thank you, Dave," he said. "Clean things up over there and then get back here, too."

"Will do, sir."

Auggie dropped his head and let the tautness in his shoulders slowly abate. Then, he grabbed one of the bottles of water he kept at his desk, fetched a clean glass from the kitchenette, and poured Annie Walker a glass of water. He was guessing she was gonna need it.

* * *

As Auggie got word that Annie was coming through security, he dialed Maxine's extension and gave her the news. Auggie knew he'd be interrupting the Campbells' hush-hush counseling session in the DCS's office, but he also knew that Joan would want to know what had happened. Still, he told Joan's secretary to hold off 5 minutes. He wanted Annie to make it into the DPD before Joan did, so he could assess her mental state and give her a few pointers on how to handle the situation.

It wasn't hard to tell when Annie entered the bullpen, as Auggie heard gasps and murmured inquiries as to her welfare trail her from the entrance over to where he sat by the screens area. He rose when he smelled her perfume, though he was puzzled that he didn't hear her stilettos. "Hey," he offered softly, when he could hear her hitched breathing right in front of him. He held out the glass of water, and she took it silently. He sat back down, grabbed his coffee, and gestured to the chair in front of him.

"Aren't you going to ask me what happened?" she asked, her voice wavering.

He just smiled, keeping his voice low and soothing. "In a minute. First, are you okay?"

She let out a strangled little laugh, then caught herself. "Oh," she said, that same whispered syllable from before. "I guess I should tell you I'm a wreck."

"You're hurt?" he asked anxiously, sitting up straight.

"No, no, it's not that," she assured him in a shaky voice that didn't exactly inspire confidence. "I'm...I just...I look terrible."

He leaned back again, relieved, and smiled. "Well now, don't be so hard on yourself; I think you look fine."

He was rewarded with a chuckle, and knew that she was indeed going to be fine. "So now," he said, clearing his throat, "tell me what the _hell_ happened up there."

* * *

It was an extremely disturbing picture she painted. Most upsetting of all, if totally understandable, was the fact that she hadn't gotten the intel. No one could blame her for having left her device behind...but he had a feeling Joan would. Just as he thought it, Joan's voice came from above them.

"What went wrong? This was supposed to be simple," she asked in irritation, making her way down the steps from her office high above the ops center.

_Annie, you picked the wrong month to start at the Agency_, Auggie thought to himself. He mentally willed her to be tough.

"It all happened so fast. I was talking to him one moment, and the next - the room seemed to explode," Annie offered.

_Not good enough, Annie, _Auggie silently warned her. He wished he'd had just a few more minutes with her before Joan had arrived.

Joan mentioned to Annie that most operatives went their whole careers without being shot at, which was technically true, if completely unhelpful in the situation. Well, no one had ever complimented her on her bedside manner. Auggie had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from jumping in to defend Annie. Or to remind Joan that the star wall wasn't for decoration. But Annie astonishingly held her own with Joan once again. Auggie was finding her more and more intriguing. On the one hand her voice, which was pitched high and soft, sounded like a teen pop star's. But, every so often, something else slipped into it. Something hard and tenacious. Something sexy as hell, if also a little terrifying for even a confident guy like Auggie.

The two women engaged in their bizarre little subliminal catfight until Joan discovered that the intel had been lost. Auggie winced for Annie, waiting for Joan to really whip out her claws. But then Annie did something that shocked him and, he was guessing, Joan too. She stood up and offered to go back to the hotel. _Annie Walker_, he mused, _you've got guts._

As Auggie had expected, Joan immediately shot down the idea of her taking anything from the room. But, as she did, an idea occurred to Auggie. He recalled the back-up transponder sitting in his desk drawer. His mind raced through the outline of the code he'd need to write on the fly, gauging whether or not he could do it in the limited time they had. A few seconds, and he was sure he could.

"She doesn't need to take anything," he interjected, to Joan. "She just needs to get in the room."

* * *

Joan had sent Annie to cover ops to procure a change of clothes, with instructions to meet back up with Auggie in the maps area in 30 minutes. Auggie had laughed to himself at the fact that Annie was now, indeed, going to be wearing "some sort of costume." Annie had suggested they re-vamp her call girl role, this time really going for it. Auggie admired her willingness to use her obvious charm and looks to get the job done; it reminded him of himself in the field. As he disconnected the device from his computer, he clenched his jaw against the nostalgia of that thought. Maybe it was watching a new operative in the field for the first time, but the desire to be out there himself was especially strong today. He shoved it down as he walked to the maps area. Distracted as he was, he didn't notice how easy it was to locate her. She was totally silent; he shouldn't have been able to find her. But he did.

"Try not to break or lose this one," he teased. As he handed her the re-worked gadget, he unintentionally reached up and placed a hand on her bare, toned shoulder. Her skin was warm and smooth, and a shot of heat raced through his palm and up his arm in response. Hoping she didn't notice the effect she was having on him, he fought off the inappropriate desire to explore further and casually dropped his burning hand as he explained how the apparatus worked. But when she rose, she bumped him with her elbow, and out of habit he grabbed her arm. As though sighted lead with someone he'd just met and hadn't taught it to was the most normal thing in the whole world...

"Oh, Annie," he called out to her 2 minutes later as she was leaving the DPD.

"Yeah?"

"You remember that number?"

She rattled off the 302 number, and he grinned.

Sure enough, 45 minutes later, his headset rang, announcing to him that the FBI Secure Exchange was forwarding him a call.

"Gold Circle Club, where pleasure is our pleasure," he answered, barely restraining his laughter. "How may I direct your call?"

_Annie, _he thought proudly, _you did good._

* * *

However, a half hour after that, when Annie had triumphantly returned to the DPD, Auggie was crestfallen to realize the intel she'd risked her life and freedom for was useless. Talk about a rough first day. Well, these things happened. Making his way out of his office, he decided to trust his weird new sixth (_fifth! _he amended with a snort) sense as he passed by someone getting water from the tap at the kitchenette. He leaned on the stainless steel counter, inhaled quietly, and was rewarded with Jo Malone Grapefruit in his olfactory glands. _Yup, it's her. _

"Word to the wise," he intoned gravely, "these pipes haven't been cleaned since the Johnson Administration. I'd invest in a bottle of Evian." He waited for her laugh, and when it didn't come, he changed his tactic. Maybe she didn't need a joke right now. Maybe she needed someone who cared. "You all right?" he asked softly.

"I saw a man get killed today. I lied to a federal agent. I was shot at."

"Hm," he murmured in assent. "Or, as we call it, Thursday at the Agency." He heard her let out a shaky little breath before she continued.

"Asset entanglement. Evasion techniques. Deception. These are all words they use in training. They make it sound so clinical, but it's not. It's...it's messy, and it's dangerous," she remarked, her voice strained from the day's events.

"It is messy, and it can be dangerous," he agreed promptly. He of all people knew that. And right that moment, he knew something else, too: He wasn't going to pursue this woman as some sort of notch on his belt. He mentally rearranged his categories, taking Annie Walker out of the "Amy" column, and placing her in the "Mel" column. It felt right somehow. Realizing Annie was staring at him, he added, "But you're doing it well." He paused a moment, trying to decide if his original plan to get her to come out to Allen's for the purpose of seducing her was still salvageable. He realized he actually really wanted to get to know her, and decided he could make the evening platonic. Plus, he had a feeling a drink would do her good. "Now, it's Miller Time. Happy Hour at the Tavern."

"That's your solution?" she prodded skeptically.

"Oh, absolutely," he responded confidently, crooking his elbow in a gesture he'd perfected to seem like chivalry but which was actually his own surreptitious modified lead technique.

"One drink," she ceded, and he laughed. He could once again feel her smile, and somehow he just _knew_ she had dimples. In fact, strangely enough, though he still couldn't bring Joan's face to mind, his brain was actively constructing an image of Annie Walker. He had no way to know if it was accurate, but it was so pleasant he hardly cared.

"Probably best if you drive," he joked as they made their way out of the DPD together.

* * *

Annie's driving was...intense. If he hadn't read her file, including the bit about her scoring higher on defensive driving at the Farm than any woman ever had, he'd have been extremely nervous. Arriving at Allen's, she parked her car and they both exited the vehicle. He stood at the passenger side waiting for the awkward moment when he'd have to explain that he needed a lead, since using his cane in the bar on nights like this was more of a hassle than it was worth. But as usual she didn't seem to require any lessons from him. She walked up beside him and he caught her elbow like they'd been doing it for years. But as nice as it was, it was also a little odd.

"You know somebody blind?" he asked as they walked to bar's front door. "Friend? Family member or something?"

"No," she answered, sounding confused. "Why? Did I do something wrong?"

"No," he replied quickly, "Opposite of that, actually."

Before she had a chance to respond, they were assaulted by the noise from inside the tavern. Happy Hour on Thursdays was always the busiest, loudest time at Allen's. He ordered them two pale ales and paid for both, over her objections.

"I can buy my own beer," she contended.

"Uh-uh," he argued back. "First day on the job, first time at Allen's - you get a free beer. It's practically in the employee handbook."

"So who bought you _your_ first beer?" she quizzed teasingly.

As if on cue, a throaty voice he recognized immediately as Tia's greeted him from somewhere to his right. He made his usual wry observation about how lovely she looked, and then Jane, sitting a few booths away called out a reminder for her party on Saturday. He confirmed he'd be there just as a waitress whose name he could never remember addressed him, too. He could feel Annie's amusement and, as an explanation, he remarked drolly, "Ladies love a blind guy."

It was true, and one of the most surprising things about life post-injury for him. If he'd been a bit of a player before, now he had to fend women off with a stick...or a cane, as the case may be. The idea had bothered him at first. What was wrong with a woman if she were interested in a guy _because_ he was disabled? It had taken him awhile to realize that what the women were really turned on by was his _difference_. They were endlessly fascinated by the adaptive set-up at his apartment, his cane, the Braille slate and stylus he kept in his kitchen for notes-to-self. Basically, all the things that he'd resisted and hated so much when he'd first been forced to incorporate them into his life. It was a twist, and one whose irony continued to baffle him.

So there was that, but there was also their (arguably incorrect) perception that he was a cocksure superhero who was unexpectedly vulnerable in a way that was especially appealing to the gentler sex. To extend the comic book metaphor, he'd realized they didn't want _Daredevil_; they wanted _Iron Man_. They expected a wounded warrior when they found out how he'd been hurt, and he could play the part for a night or two so they both got what they wanted. More than a night or two, however, and he became exhausted by the charade. He'd revert to his lockbox ways, bored of pretending to be more tortured or needy than he really was. Ultimately, for the long-term, he was only interested in being with a woman to whom his blindness was just another minor physical characteristic, like the cleft in his chin or the color of his hair. It was a tall order, he knew, and maybe even too much to hope for. But he was holding out hope that someone like that existed somewhere. Someone (_he hesitated to think it, it was so early, but there it was_) like Annie Walker.

All of this passed through his mind in a second, and he came back to her quickly enough to elucidate that women _thought_ blind men didn't care about looks. That, of course, was another aspect of the attraction and the easiest to give Annie in a quip.

"Think?" she bantered back, and he found himself revealing one of his trademark "blind man" secrets, the one about taking a cue as to a woman's looks by listening to how other men spoke to her. It wasn't something he did often; he preferred to remain a little mysterious on that front. But he was once again feeling inebriated not by the beer in his hand, but by the woman at his side.

Just as he'd been about to launch into a flirtatious speech about _her_ looks, Conrad interrupted them and made his point so perfectly it was like they'd planned it. _It's better this way_, he thought, even as he somewhat jealously listened to Conrad turn on the charm. He reminded himself that his intention was _not_ to hook up with her. But that didn't mean he particularly loved the idea of Conrad hooking up with her instead. So he was a little relieved when Conrad left to go get them another round.

Alone together once more, he decided to try to get to know her a little better...and maybe fill some of those holes in her file. Before he had a chance, though, she started talking shop.

"Why do you think Stas tried to sell us such bad intel?" she puzzled.

Predictably, she was still obsessing over what she surely saw as her failure earlier in the day. "Just because a guy can shoot a sniper rifle doesn't make him smart. Intelligence can be a bit of a misnomer," he offered. Honestly, the whole situation had confused and disturbed him, too; he'd just become more comfortable with mystery and half-truths over the years.

"I guess..." she murmured.

Sensing his opportunity to reclaim the conversation, he dared to ask, "So tell me, why'd you get into this? You certainly don't fit the profile."

"I thought there was no profile," she retorted. _There was that smile again; dimples, too. _

"And yet, everyone joins for some reason, and it sure ain't the pay," he tossed back. He listened carefully and heard her clear her throat uncomfortably. He leaned in a little and adjusted his voice to a more earnest note: "Tell me, I can take it." He wasn't sure she picked up on his reference to his own clearly painful past, but it got her talking, which was the point anyway.

As she laid out the bittersweet details of the heartbreak that had led her join up with the Agency, he knew for sure that his decision had been the right one. Annie Walker would not be a one-night stand. As with Mel, he rapidly started to develop a protective instinct toward her. That would come in handy as her handler, but it wasn't only a professional feeling; as a person, he just didn't want anything bad to happen to her. And that included _him_.

While she talked, he also found himself doing something he hadn't done since his first days out of rehab, which was actively trying not to make eye contact with her. There'd been a time when he'd felt distinctly self-conscious about where his gaze fell while conversing with someone. He knew he was probably close to looking in the right place most of the time, as he'd been told most people blinded as adults did. But he was also sure his eye contact was rarely absolutely direct. He'd assumed it would make sighted people more comfortable if he just didn't even try.

Then, one day, Andy had asked him why he looked up or away so frequently while speaking to people. It had brought Auggie up short; he was startled to realize that Andy had noticed. He wondered then, as he had many times since, if the people around him had any sense of what it was like to walk around in total darkness 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Pitch black in the morning, pitch black in the afternoon, pitch black in the evening. Ink-dark night while he worked, ink-dark night while he socialized, ink-dark night at home. A lightless murk for Easter, Fourth of July, and Christmas. He recalled the panic, the way it had felt like he was smothering to death in the beginning, like someone had thrown a heavy, suffocating blanket over his head and held it there. Gradually, as he adjusted, he stopped noticing it. Now, he knew he was starting to forget what it was like for "them," too. What it was like to be able to see the person you were talking to, and what they were doing. In any event, Andy's subtle observation was a turning point for him. He figured he was damned if he did, damned if he didn't, so he'd just do whatever seemed natural in the moment. In this moment, it seemed right for him not to stare her down while she was baring her soul. So he didn't. But not because he was thinking of himself; because he was thinking of her.

"...I wasn't gonna get burned again," she finished her story, and he once again heard that unyeilding note in her voice. It was downright scary, and he hoped she never used it against him.

Auggie inhaled through his nose, honored she'd shared her story with him, but also feeling a tad uncomfortable at the sudden intimacy that seemed like a living thing sitting on the table between them. So he did what he always did when he felt uncomfortable: He made a joke.

"Man, you _do_ fit the profile," he grinned.

But as it turned out, his diversionary joke hadn't been necessary, as his phone buzzing right then provided a more-than-adequate deflection. He put in his earpiece and tried to hide his grin as his phone privately read him the text he'd just received from Conrad.

* * *

Moments after Auggie got his text, Conrad showed up at their table with their drinks. And about two minutes after that, Conrad kicked Auggie under the table as Auggie heard two women thread their way past where they sat. _Game on_, Auggie thought.

"Oh, oh, okay, how about that girl?" he began as though it were a surprise, calling Annie's attention to the passing women. "She smells great."

Conrad's "all right" in response was Auggie's cue that he'd gotten the right girl. _Excellent._

Conrad paused for a moment, while Auggie assumed he pretended to be observing for the first time the girl that he'd already inventoried at the bar and sent Auggie the details of. Then he commented, "Vintage Irish Heart ring, crucifix on her neck, LSAT prep book in her purse, holds her liquor...I'm guessing Boston College."

Auggie tried to hide his annoyance, though he hoped his clenched fist got the point across. Conrad was stealing the show, repeating basically everything his text had said. _Leave something for the blind guy_, Auggie thought in irritation. If he didn't, what would be the point of this little game they'd perfected?

And it _was_ a game, one that Conrad had unexpectedly initiated one night when Auggie had been trying to impress one of his conquests. Conrad, whom he'd initially written off as basically a dilettante, had cornered Auggie at the bar that night and suggested they fool Auggie's date by pretending to be super-spies. In that instance, Conrad's cousin, who also lived in DC, had been at Allen's that night too. Conrad had rattled off some facts about her, including what she was wearing that night, and he and Auggie had returned to the table with the drinks and a plan. It had worked, too - the girl (_Steph? Candace? _Auggie couldn't recall) had been gobsmacked that the men could get _all that_ from just a glance. Since then, they'd pulled the prank a half dozen other times with excellent, er, "results." So Auggie couldn't understand why Conrad was changing it up tonight. Auggie shot him a peeved look, just as Annie piped up:

"Maryland accent, not Baltimore. Traces of Dublin...I bet her parents are first generation off-the-boat," she mused quietly.

Auggie tried to keep from laughing, or applauding, or both. None of the women they'd pulled this on had ever attempted to get in on the action. Her contribution emboldened Auggie, who did have one detail of his own to add to the mix in the hopes of impressing Annie: "And she's fit, huh? Her heels barely made any noise when she was walking by."

"In fact, she was walking a little gingerly," Conrad upped the ante. "I'd say she's training for a marathon."

_You smug bastard_, Auggie accused silently...not that he blamed the guy. "Okay, time for more drinks," he announced, hoping to cut Conrad off at the pass. Auggie may have known he wasn't going to sleep with her, but he also wasn't going to sit idly by and let Conrad upstage him like that.

Unfortunately, that was the exact moment when Annie noticed Auggie's wristwatch, and the time it displayed. She rushed off with a hurried explanation about dinner with her sister, leaving the two men alone at the table, their elaborate hoax epically failing for the first time. Though Auggie did take a little pleasure in the fact that it was him she explained the situation to, his arm she grasped just before turning to leave. He felt superior for only about 2 seconds, though.

_Oh_, it occurred to him,_ she told me because I'm the one who rode with her. _"Wait," he weakly attempted to get her attention, "how'm I gonna get home?" Conrad said nothing, knowing that Auggie was perfectly capable of getting home in any number of ways and understanding that this routine was solely for the purpose of drawing Annie back in. But she was apparently already too far away to hear his manipulative plea. Well, that was just as well. The girl with the Irish Heart ring laughed with her friends from one table over, and Auggie was drawn to it like a siren's song.

_I never promised Mel I'd be a monk_, he reminded himself.

* * *

The next day Auggie was already at his desk, having extracted himself from Louise's embrace before the sun was up, when word trickled into the DPD that someone had just been rounded up by security at the front gate. Gossip and rumors circulated around the room, including one claiming the incident involved a new operative, a female one.

Auggie walked out of the tech ops doors and listened for a voice he recognized. He caught Tommy's and got his attention. "You seen Annie around?" he asked. "She at her desk?"

"No to both. Sorry," he replied. _Uh-oh._ Auggie decided he needed a better source.

"Joan?" he called out as he entered her waiting area.

"She's not here, Auggie," Maxine explained from her seat behind her desk.

"What's going on, Maxine?"

Maxine paused a moment, then got up and took his arm. She walked him further into the room, away from the eyes and ears outside the door. Auggie looked down toward her quizzically. "New girl got herself into some trouble," she whispered.

"What kind of trouble?" he asked.

"That's above my clearance," she replied.

"Okay, thanks, Maxine," he responded distractedly, patting her hand on his arm before turning and making his way back to his desk. He tried Annie's phone, but just as it went straight to voicemail, he heard a commotion from Joan's office above the DPD.

Knowing he was probably the only person in the department who could get away with it, he walked quietly back up the stairs and stood just outside the window that overlooked the bullpen. He tried to stay out of sight in the corner, not sure whether or not Joan's blinds were open. From the sound of it, Annie was being dressed-down pretty harshly. Something about discussing the Stas case with an old professor. He couldn't hear every word, but he definitely caught Joan telling Annie she was headed back to the Farm. His heart squeezed in disappointment while he waited for Joan to fire her...but she didn't. _What's your play here, Joan?_ he wondered. _Just scare the poor girl to death?_ Joan didn't baby anyone, but she'd been especially cruel to Annie since the moment she'd walked into her department. He heard Joan dismiss her and took a lucky guess as to where Annie was headed.

* * *

The clamor coming from inside the women's restroom confirmed that he'd guessed correctly. He knew it was a risky gambit to go in after her, but he was a little worried she'd break the door - or her hand - if he didn't intervene. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

He already knew it was her, but the smell of her (_Mel's_) perfume made him even more confident.

"Whoops," he stage-whispered. "Perfume. Wrong bathroom." His laser cane showed him that the bathroom was a mirror image of the men's. "Jo Malone Grapefruit...Annie? You're here? I had no idea." The ruckus had abruptly cut off when he entered; he hoped she'd say something so he could pinpoint her location.

She did. "Liar."

"How you doing?" he asked quietly, leaning against the stall next to the one from which her voice had come.

"I'm fine," she answered testily.

Now it was his turn. "Liar." He paused. "You know, I remember when I first started at the Agency. I was so freaking confused by everything," he explained, turning so his back was against the metal door. "And this was before my accident; I could still see, but...protocol...bureaucracy...People I thought were mentors turned out to be jerks, and vice versa. I was a mess." His mention of mentors-slash-jerks was a veiled reference (that he hoped she couldn't see through) to Arthur Campbell, on whom the jury was still out at the moment. "Of course, back then, I could at least read the bathroom signs," he ended as a continuation of his opening joke. Of _course_ he knew he'd walked into the women's restroom; there were Braille plaques on the walls outside all of Langley's bathrooms, and he never entered one without checking. But he'd sacrifice his dignity for comedy, if he could just get her to laugh.

She didn't laugh, but her next words were quieter, calmer. "So what's the secret?"

He let her in on his: a sense of humor and a full bottle of Patrón. When she still didn't laugh, he realized she probably thought her career at the CIA was over (_and with good reason_, he thought, annoyed at Joan). "Annie, if Joan was gonna fire you, she would've already done it. The Agency likes people who take initiative. It's kind of a weird push-pull thing."

Annie was quiet a moment, and then she opened the door to the stall. "In that case, I need your help."

* * *

_Holy shit,_ thought Auggie exuberantly. _I'm in the field. I am IN the field. I'M IN THE FREAKING FIELD._

When Annie's favor had turned out to be him secretly accompanying her to a DC morgue to find the body of the man killed in the Oval Suite the day before, he'd decided he'd walk across hot coals barefoot for the woman. Since he'd been back to the DPD, not one person had even considered that he might be useful out from behind his desk. Now, _this woman_ had walked into the CIA one day, and dragged him out the next. Because she _needed_ him. It was like a _drug_.

He tried not to show his euphoria, wanting to play it cool like the seasoned operative he actually was...and also hoping not to tip her off to the fact that he was definitely _not_ allowed to be doing this.

'This,' at the moment, was standing outside the medical examiner's office trying to figure out how to get access to the restricted morgue level. They walked arm in arm, since it didn't seem smart to make Auggie's blindness obvious while they were undercover. That was also why he'd left his regular cane at Langley and had his laser cane tucked into his pocket, and why he was wearing sunglasses even though he ironically felt like a terrible blind cliché in them.

He was racking his brain for ideas to get in when Annie suddenly asked someone walking by them if they'd take a picture of them. Auggie couldn't guess what she was up to but played along, feeling distinctly weird about pretending to be sighted (and hoping all the while that he was selling it) as he looked in the man's direction. When the man handed back her phone, Annie turned him around and he heard a little plastic snap, followed by the familiar smell of wintergreen. His mind turned fast, deducing that the snap sound meant it wasn't gum. And the smell was so strong it had to be Listerine, which he gargled with every morning. But that company didn't make mints in snap cases. Suddenly, he realized what it was. "Wintergreen Listerine Breath Strips?" he puzzled. _Please say those aren't for me_, he worried, thinking of the cup of coffee he'd abandoned before eavesdropping at Joan's office.

"I'm improvising," she revealed. "I once washed a pair of jeans with these in the pocket. When I fished them out, I couldn't get them...off...my...fingers," she trailed off, and suddenly it was clear to him what she was attempting. Which was incredibly clever and inventive. And definitely, _definitely_ never gonna work.

He told her so, but not 10 seconds later he heard an electronic beep and the restricted access door open. He stood there in shock for a second, and then realized with considerable alarm that she'd left him behind. _Crap! _He did have his laser cane with him for emergencies, but it was hidden away in his pocket since it was technically not even supposed to leave the CIA campus. Using it out in public without life or limb in danger would be a huge no-no. "Annie," he called out, trying to keep the fear out of his voice, and received a bump on the back of his hand a moment later. _Whew._

She led him down an echo-y hallway and then they ducked into what he guessed from the fusty smell was a janitor's closet.

"What's the plan here, Annie?"

"Um..." she hemmed.

"Annie?"

"Okay, I have an idea," she said after another momentary pause. "But...it involves you staying put here for 5 - no, 10 minutes, tops," she answered apologetically.

"All right," he agreed promptly. "Do what you gotta do." Apparently she really didn't have any clue how magical it was that he was even outside the DPD, let alone the building. He'd have sat in that closet for a week if it meant he got to be in the field like this.

"Thank you so much for this," she whispered hurriedly as she slipped out the door.

Five minutes passed, and then ten, and then fifteen. Auggie started running scenarios in his mind, not only of what might have happened to Annie, but also how the hell he'd get out of there if she'd been caught. He knew she wouldn't tell anyone about him being there, so he'd be on his own. He nervously felt for his phone in his pocket and let its presence calm his nerves a tad. Joan's voice, and then Arthur's, sounded in his mind, big "see-why-you're-not allowed-in-the-field" speeches from the both of them. A bead of sweat trickled down his back when all at once he knew she was near. He couldn't hear her or smell her (let alone touch or taste her, though _those_ thoughts were extremely appealing), but he knew she'd be opening the door in 3...2...1...

_- click -_

The door opened and there she was. She'd found the room with the extra gurneys. Now it was Auggie's turn to play the role of dead guy, which had been her initial idea in the bathroom at Langley and why she'd needed him to come along in the first place. He handed her his shoes, laid down on the cot, and tried not to have an episode of PTSD as she gently placed the sheet over his face.

After a long walk through convoluted hallways, they finally made it to the morgue. She ensured the room was clear, then threw back the sheet. Auggie tried not to show what a relief that was, and sat up quickly. He felt for his shoes, which he thought she'd placed at the foot of the gurney, but came up empty-handed. "Annie, you forgot my shoes," he complained. "I'm supposed to walk around a morgue barefoot?"

When she didn't respond, he sighed and stepped gingerly onto the concrete floor, trying not to imagine what kinds of things had dripped and plopped and splurted onto its surface over the years. He made a mental note to wear his socks into the shower when he got home, and then burn them.

He took a moment to listen for her and to the room around him. Feeling positive they were alone, with the way she was talking openly about the case, he removed the laser cane from his pocket and swept the area in front of him, eventually making it to her side at the doorway to one of the huge freezers where they kept the corpse-sicles. She didn't seem the least bit freaked out by the macabre nature of what they were doing, which earned Auggie's admiration _and_ his curiosity. _Did this have anything to do with the holes in her file?_ he pondered.

"This guy," she announced triumphantly, clearly coming across the right body. "Clean as a boy scout. I knew it. Stas is still alive. I should've noticed it when his robe came off."

"Wait," Auggie stopped her, incredulous. "His _robe_ came off?"

Annie didn't get a chance to answer, though, because that's when the FBI arrived.

* * *

Auggie assumed from the way he spoke to her that the FBI agent who'd apprehended them was the same one who'd been at the Capitol Grande. Predictably, this Agent Rossabi made a move to separate them. But he only did it once they were out of the ME's building entirely, which by then was too late. He'd allowed Annie to lead Auggie out, and Auggie had whispered a single word into her ear as they walked down the hall: "John." She made an almost inaudible grunt, and he knew she'd understood. As they exited the doors of the building, she'd taken advantage of the noisy rush of air to whisper a word back to him: "Fetishist." He'd kept a straight face and nodded, though his abs hurt from trying not to laugh. This girl was _ballsy_.

They were separated then, and driven in different cars to what Auggie assumed was FBI Headquarters. He tried to keep track of the distances and turns, and he was pretty sure that's where they'd ended up. After all, the building was only a couple of miles down Pennsylvania Ave, on the other side of the White House, from his M Street apartment.

Hustled inside and into an interrogation room to wait, he explored the room the way he'd learned to in rehab if he ever lost his cane: with one hand protecting his upper body and the other outstretched at waist level. When he reached a wall of what felt like windows, he ran the back of his hand along it. At the corner, he turned and continued going around and around the room, using the time to formulate his story. And not just his story for the FBI. Oh no, he'd have a _lot_ of explaining to do back at Langley. And that was infinitely more troubling than selling some bullshit story to the g-men goons until someone at the CIA made a call and they were released.

_Actually_, he smiled,_ the bullshit-story-selling should be kinda fun_. And it _was_.

* * *

Once released, Annie and Auggie took a cab back to the medical examiner's to grab her car, and then they headed into Langley, where they were both wanted posthaste. Annie, who'd kept her cool during the interrogation, was practically hyperventilating by the time they made in onto the GW Parkway headed toward McLean.

"She's gonna fire me. She's actually going to fire me now," she panicked.

"Annie, calm down," he reassured her. "The important thing to remember is, you made good. That body was not Stas. Well, from what I could see of him anyway."

She gave him a small laugh, but then immediately returned to fretting.

"Hey," he said softly, laying a hand on her forearm. "I'm not gonna let you take the fall for this."

He could feel her looking at him. "Thank you," she finally said, placing her hand over his and making his pulse beat through his skin.

* * *

At Langley, the two tried to appear busy as they awaited the DNA results. A test that would have taken a two weeks for a run-of-the-mill paternity suit was processed in two hours using an advanced microchip the DST had developed only months earlier. It was good to be the CIA. That drastically cut down the time they'd have to wait anxiously to hear whether or not they'd blown it, anyway.

Auggie was biding his time for one of the newer techs to bring him a Braille printout of the file Annie was currently sifting through, feeling mildly frustrated that he couldn't just look over her shoulder. Just as Kent touched his arm and handed off the file, Joan approached from Auggie's left:

"You were right," Joan announced, and Auggie silently savored the victory for Annie's sake.

"Really?" Annie asked, sounding stunned.

"Don't make me say it again," Joan warned. "We got ahold of the body after you two were pinched at the morgue - not good, by the way - "

"We're sorry about that," Auggie jumped in. But he didn't feel sorry, and he was guessing he didn't look sorry, with the Cheshire-cat grin pasted on his face. He ducked his head deferentially all the same.

"Two days on the job, and you already have him apologizing for you?" Joan snarked.

Auggie again threw himself in front of the bullet, even though it had been aimed at Annie. "She likes Mingus," he quipped.

They discussed the case further, trying to tease out the reason the man in the morgue hadn't been the real Stas. Finally, the proverbial light bulb went on over Auggie's head as Annie emphasized that the man was an assassin.

"Oh man, is Stas still on the HSTL?" he muttered, making his way back to his desk. He pulled up the High Security Threat List, confirming his fear: Stas was listed as "deceased," which meant no one anywhere was going to be looking for him. Or expecting him.

He silently cheered as Annie and Joan discussed the case like peers. Annie had earned a foot in the door with her audacious move this afternoon. And he'd gotten into the field with only the mildest of rebukes from Joan. It was a win-win and practically a miracle. Which was why he was able to say entirely without bitterness, "Go get him, girls," as the women hurried out of the DPD without him.

* * *

Three hours later, Auggie was wondering what the hell was going on around this place. It was almost 10 o'clock, but Arthur had called an emergency meeting in his office that had turned into an awards ceremony for Annie. Auggie was all about celebrating Annie's win, but the bizarre immediacy of this ceremony, literally within minutes of the conclusion of the op that had merited it, was unheard of. Only the Friday night skeleton crew was even in the building at the moment. _Which may have been the point, _Auggie considered, turning over the Annie Walker enigma in his mind.

He'd hung with his friend Jenna from cover ops throughout the unusual event, the two of them whispering back and forth about how odd it all was, and he was still by her side when he overheard Joan tell Annie that the man who'd shot Stas was Agent Baldwin. _Jim Baldwin?_ Auggie ruminated dubiously. _Uh, no. _The guy was a glorified accountant whose riskiest ops involved him posing as an IRS auditor and secreting financial documents out of American corporations suspected of indirectly funding terrorists.

He heard Joan request the medal from Annie and walk away, and knew it was his opportunity. He had Jenna point him in Annie's direction and walked until he sensed the warm, fuzzy aura he'd begun to associate with her, and which he swore he'd never tell a soul about. _Now there's a way to ensure a psych evaluation, _he reflected sardonically.

"The Agency giveth and the Agency taketh away," he remarked, spoofing one of the few Bible verses he was familiar with.

She slipped her arm easily into the crook of his elbow. "You were right," she noted. "This is a weird place to work."

She'd had a long, harrowing day, and he wasn't about to add to her bewilderment by mentioning that it had gotten even weirder since yesterday morning. So he just said, "C'mon, let's go scarf down a few more of these cheese cubes before they take those away."

But what he thought was:

_Annie Walker, I got a feeling you and I are gonna make a great team. _

* * *

**THE END**

**...or is it THE BEGINNING? ;)**_  
_


End file.
